


Temporalgernon

by disgustiphage



Series: Temporalgernon [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Gen, I hope you love time travel, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-23
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:11:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 129,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgustiphage/pseuds/disgustiphage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exploration and exploitation of variations. (also read as: Eggs spontaneously becomes a little smarter after multiplying one too many times.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. TEMPORALGERNON

**Author's Note:**

> The story was started a couple months after the intermission ended, and is being uploaded as it is edited. Since some things have been added to canon since writing this, there are some discrepancies in the fic, especially in that I was half way through writing it when Doc Scratch decided to show up. Also, Matchsticks and Quarters' real powers being revealed (fml). So let's call it an AU of sorts, just based mostly in the intermission itself.  
> Updates also here: http://disgustipurge.livejournal.com/ !

 

_RING RING RING_

  
    Eggs did not remember exactly what he needed more duplicates for, and had long slipped past the point of caring. He greeted each copy fervently as he waded through the undulating green sea. Eggs' eyes lit up as he saw Biscuits' burly mass parting the copies like curtains to meet him at the center of the congregation.  
    "I don't think this is how you play Red Rover?" Biscuits spoke loudly over the chatter and ringing. Standing together, Eggs and Biscuits were approximately the same height, although even without color-coded hats it was not difficult to pick his friend out from the crowd.  
    "Uhh," Eggs scratched his head. "That's what we was doing?"  
    Biscuits shrugged and cast his glance about the room.  
    "Well if we was," he said, his voice covered by that of the others, "you're cheating! You only made more _you_ s."  
    "What?"  
    "I said you're cheatin'!" Biscuits shouted.  
    "No, you are!" Eggs exclaimed, an automatic response. He was not even sure what it was they were arguing about.  
    "What?"  
    The babble combined with Eggs and Biscuits' shouting masked the noise of heavy footsteps, the creaking of the door in the back, the exasperated curses. The knock of a crowbar smashing a skull or two.  
    Biscuits paused his tongue and watched Crowbar's slow approach, his dark red hat just barely visible, plodding through the Eggs. He chiseled away a path, weapon mechanically swinging, blood flying.  
    "Biscuit!" Eggs took his friend by the shoulder. "What're you lookin-"  
    He went down with a thud and would have landed on Biscuits, had he not sidestepped out of the way. He kneeled down, practically fell down, to prod the fallen with a finger. "Eggsy! You okay?"  
    Then he heard Crowbar's voice, something like a whispered apology. His eyes rose to meet his, instead finding a red weapon about to bear down on him.  
    An Eggs' arm shot out, grasping Crowbar's and balking the near-attack. Crowbar did not struggle against the larger Felt, for lack of strength to do so. Otherwise motionless, Crowbar inclined his head over his raised shoulder.  
    "Um," Eggs said, "There's a lots of me but not'a Biscuit."  
    This statement prompted Crowbar to raise an eyebrow, to scan the room of destroyed antique clocks and turned over furniture, all the work of a plethora Eggs. And here on his knees was Biscuits. Only one.  
    "Take him and leave," Crowbar said after a moment, gesturing with his unrestrained hand at Biscuits, and to the door he entered from. Eggs nodded and finally let go.  
    "Les'go finish our game outside," Eggs said, gently pulling him out of the room.  
    "'Kay," Biscuits said blithely, "I gots a better idea for a game anyways!"  
    Crowbar lowered his weapon and watched them leave, standing there for several moments amongst the rest of the mostly oblivious Eggs. His attention snapped back when he heard glass shattering. Crowbar twisted and forced his way past the copies, towards the wall, arriving just in time to see an Eggs brushing off his slightly tattered clothing. He stood on the other side of a large window, now an opened maw of ruined glass teeth. The wayward Eggs glanced up and spotted him staring at him, and ran. Crowbar cursed under his breath, deciding to get that one last as he returned to cleaning up the bulk here in this room. Stitch would pitch a fit if he allowed all this excess to linger too much longer. But one, individual straggler could wait a bit.

  


  


  


\- TEMPORALGERNON -  


  


  


  
    Biscuits had burst through the door to Stitch's boutique just as he was making an exit, hand inches from the handle when his ass was nearly sent to the floor. Stitch was ready to yell at him, until he saw, and did a double-take at, the large dart lodged deep in Biscuits' forehead.  
    "Eggs missed the apple," he said with an accusatory tone, staring daggers at his friend.  
    Eggs inhaled sharply, taking a defensive stance. "Nuh-uh, your apple missed the dart!"  
    "Children, please. Pipe the hell down." Stitch said, voice gravelly, tired. A moment's hesitation and he extended a scarred arm, gesturing towards a couple of sturdy chairs hugging a coffee table. "Just sit."  
    "You'll help him?" Eggs plopped down onto a chair, as did his companion. "'Cause you're like, a doctor, right?"  
    "I ain't a doctor. Just a tailor," Stitch said. He languidly started across the room to his tool shelf. It was not necessarily his old age that caused him to move at such a slow pace, but the prospect of traveling down to the warehouse to tend to Biscuits' effigy. If it were nearly anyone but Biscuits, he would have hurried, felt a bit more surprise at seeing him walking and talking with that thing possibly impaling his brain. But, it was Biscuits. Not that he did not particularly care, but these two were much hardier than they had any right to be.  
    "Yeah but," Eggs said, precariously balancing his chair on its back legs, "a tailor's like a doctor for uh, clothes."  
    "That's deep," Biscuits gasped.  
    Sewing kit secured under his arm, Stitch found another chair and sat across from Eggs and Biscuits, thinking. The dart victim became restless and moved to touch it. With a surprising speed Stitch leaned over and slapped Biscuits' hand away from it.  
    "Don't touch it," he sternly said. Yes, Biscuits was hardy. But there was a little, tiny inkling of care for the big dope in the very bottom of his heart. It made him warn him repeatedly and take bandages and begin to secure them carefully around Biscuits' head. "You need a sitter while I'm gone?"  
    He slapped his wandering hand away again. Eggs watched Stitch intently, seemingly fascinated. It bothered Stitch. Then Eggs fell backwards when he leaned too far back, confirming even further the answer to his question.  
    "Why can't we touch it?" Eggs asked, dusting himself off.  
    "Because I told you not to," Stitch curtly said as he finished wrapping the bandages.  
    "Can you pull it out?"  
    "You shouldn't."  
    "Why?"  
    "It's just safer to fix your effigies."  
    "But why?"  
     
    "Sawbuck!" Stitch ushered Eggs and Biscuits into the garage, eager to find a car, any car, and drive away from Eggs' constant questioning. With curt instructions he made haste past the portly, middle-aged man. Sawbuck marveled at how Stitch moved when he was motivated enough, then turned his head to find Eggs and Biscuits standing by the door, stupid smiles on their faces, a foreign object in one of them.  
    "Just um, just... have a seat on the bench there, I guess," Sawbuck said, voice thick, slightly lispy. He made a face like a frown, his odd fish-like jaw of exposed serrated teeth distorting not just his voice but most expressions. What he was to do with these two, he was unsure. He was reluctant to go back under the hood of the DeLorean, to let these two out of his sight. As if watching them would prevent any potential disaster, like watching a pot of water supposedly prevents it from boiling.  
    "Your car's lookin' nice, Buckie!" Eggs said. "But it needs racing stripes."  
    "Yeah it'll make your car go faster!" Biscuits agreed. His hands wandered, eventually coming back up to the dart in his head. It was Eggs, this time, that slapped Biscuits' hand down.  
    "Stitch said don't mess with it!"  
    "But it itches," Biscuits whined. Eggs took his hands and held them down, and his friend struggled against him.  
    Sawbuck leaned against one of the garage's support pillars, watching them fight with vague amusement, and a sense that something was off about Eggs, something he could not quite place.

    The warm suns hung high in the colorful sky, clear of clouds save for a few sinuous wisps. The Felt manor sat perched on a large hill, almost a mesa, overlooking the grandiose Midnight City. Much like a viridian haunted house, it loomed, creaking, green paint peeling, windows cracking and sometimes broken after various cinderblock-related incidents, repairs only occurring in random, often temporary bursts. The buildings below the hill were even more derelict and swarming with bums and petty criminals  
    Beyond the slums, in the heart of the city, could be seen a forested park and partial mountain range surrounding a large hot springs. The entire area was simply called Oasis, and all around it was where all the action was. Casinos and night clubs and bars and restaurants and brothels circled the city's center, spiraling out from the park and fading into suburbs and more boring buildings and offices once hitting the outer ring.  
    Eggs and Biscuits thoroughly enjoyed the few trips they took into the inner circles of the city, and looked out at it with a sort of nostalgia. But, they were content to lay on the prickly grass behind the manor as well. To stare at the suns, fight, multiply, break more windows for shits and giggles and blame it on meteors. Usually.  
    "When's last time we went with them?" Eggs said, looking out at the city with a deep longing.  
    "Went with what?" Biscuits said.  
    "They ain't taken us with them in a long time. Y'know, for fun?"  
    Biscuits yawned and rolled over. He propped his head on one hand and prodded Eggs' shoulder with the other.  
    "Yeah, this is boring. Let's play darts."  
    "I dunno," Eggs grimaced. "'Member what happened before? We're not allowed to play darts no more."  
    "Oh. But that wont happen this time."  
    "You said that yesterday, and it happened!"  
    "Oh yeah," Biscuits sat up, feeling the stitches on his forehead. Flashing a grin, he insisted, "oh, but it wont happen _this_ time!"  
    Eggs, too, sat up and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It was a compelling argument, but,  
    "maybe we shouldn't throw darts at _people_."  
    It was a novel idea, just crazy enough to work. A few targets painted crudely on the walls made a nice game of it, but like most everything the two of them did together, it devolved into something else entirely, something that caused rocks to fly through the air and and through a window. And into someone's head.  
    "Oh shit!" Eggs gripped Biscuits by the shoulder and took to the ground the moment he heard that short yelp and the cocking of a gun. A hail of bullets screamed over their heads as they both tried to crawl away.  
    Snowman appeared behind them, snatching the two by their collars. They strained like dogs on leashes, dragging her by the heels for a short distance.  
    Eggs finally stopped, and turned, and begged, "so sorry Snowy! Sorry sorry sorry!"  
    "Yeah, he's sorry!" Biscuits insisted. "He's sorry he throwed the rock last time too, and for-"  
    "Yeah I," Eggs paused and punched Biscuits' shoulder when he continued to confess things for his friend. "Shut up Biscuit!"  
    Snowman scoffed and half-smiled, for a second. A small stream of blood tattooed her face, coming down from a cracking gash in her carapace. She stared at them for what seemed like forever, finger resting on the trigger, as if debating whether or not she should shoot them. Biscuits stared back dumbly, in his typical fashion. But Eggs, he looked genuinely... remorseful.  
    She relaxed her arm, put away her gun, and faded out of sight without a single word. Eggs and Biscuits, once assured that they were safe, sat up and exchanged worried glances.  
    "She scares me sometimes," said Biscuits.  
    "Yeah," Eggs wearily agreed. He stood, then helped his friend up. "But she looks so pretty when she's mad. And did'ja see her dress? It was all sparkly in the sunshine! She's so pretty."  
    Biscuits giggled like a child. "Eggsy has a crush!"  
    "Nuh-uh!" Eggs quickly said. "Wait... yeah," he added, fidgeting shyly. Biscuits took him by the arm, dragging him back towards the house.  
    "Let's go make her real mad!" he said.  
    "That sounds real stupid!" Eggs hesitated against Biscuits' tugs. He stopped and spread out his hands, expressing his idea.  
    "Is not! If you make her real mad, then she'll look real pretty, and, that's what girls like: being pretty. Right?"  
    "Uh," Eggs bit his lip. He knew there was something strange about his friend's logic, but could not quite place what that thing was. "I guess so."  
    "Yeah! Let's go!"

    As it turned out, Snowman did not appreciate these small acts of "kindness" bestowed upon her in the following week. She came home to find her makeup decorating things other than her own face, among other far less forgiving things. She considered taking a nice chunk of change out of the vault and staying at the Oasis Hotel a while. Her death threats certainly did nothing helpful.  
    "You can't kill all of us!" Biscuits had teased. She begrudgingly had to admit that he was right, for once. Besides, she had no real desire to kill them, even extras. They were annoying twats, but they were also, in a way, family.  
    As she ran her fingers over the ruins of one of her skirts, her body flickered in and out of air and finally faded from sight. She soon reappeared on the bedside of a resting prisoner.  
    "Snowy?!" Crowbar shot up, dropping his book. "You couldn't knock?"  
    She shrugged and leaned back a bit, getting comfortable."How's jail?"  
    (As if her voice had pulled a trigger, the prisoners in the nearby cells rang out. _Is that a girl? You got a dame in there?_ )  
    Crowbar cocked his head with a laid-back smile. Seeing those tired eyes soften, tense muscles relaxed caught her pleasantly unawares. He always, to her initial chagrin, struck her as particularly handsome for his kind, even if he was a little on the short side. But seeing him in this mode, even dressed in that ill-fitting black and white uniform, amplified this tenfold. She silently chided herself as just for a heartbeat, she felt a spike of longing for him.  
    "I need to get caught more often. The food ain't so good, but it's worth not having to deal with those chucklefucks back home."  
    From the cell across from theirs, Matchsticks chimed in his agreement. She looked up at the large man lounging on his cot. The prison uniform looked even sillier on him. In his hands was what appeared to be smut, but Snowman's sudden appearance has siphoned his attention from it. His eyes struggled between her face and chest and legs. She had always reveled in such attentions, until such attentions got out of hand. Hence, her main motivation for coming here in the first place.  
    "Wonder how Quarts's holding up by himself," he said, his voice distant.  
    "He can handle it," Crowbar said. "Don't get too comfy. Gonna be your turn to watch the house next time."  
    Matchsticks groaned.  
    "You sneaky bastards," Snowman snickered. She heard a wolf-whistle from afar. _Don't bogart the pussy!_  
    "What's the occasion, anyway?" said Crowbar, ignoring the shouting.  
    "Wingus and Dingus-"  
    "Shit, they haven't been duplicating, have they?"  
    "Well," Snowman tapped her chin, "no, actually, now that I think of it. Strange."  
    "Seriously?" Matchsticks said, raising up on his elbows. She nodded. "Well, then what's the problem?"  
    "Look, Snowy," Crowbar touched her arm, "We appreciate the eyecandy," he said warmly, "but me and Sticks are on vacation. If the problem ain't duplication, talk to Quarts." She hesitated, before Crowbar continued in an attempt to reassure her. "I put him in charge for a reason. I trust him completely. You can, too."  
    "Yes, I know," Snowman said. "I know. But there's something else, about Eggs-"  
    _She sounds fucking hot!_  
    "-Snowy. Go bug Quarts about it. Ain't our business right now. He can deal with it." Matchsticks said.  
    _Deal with them titties-_  
    "Shut the fuck up!" Matchsticks slammed the wall with his fist, cracking the cheap material of the wall and quieting the other inmates.  
    "Fine. Fine." Snowman raised her hands in defeat. "Don't take too long escaping, boys." She flickered and blew Crowbar a playful kiss before disappearing.

    _Knock knock_  
    She managed to catch Eggs, dragging him by his shirt and shoving him through the door as Quarters, his eyes screaming that he had just awoken from a deep sleep, opened it and pushed him aside. He stood there in nothing but trousers and bandages tightly binding his chest. Tall and somewhat lean, and as she now saw, well-muscled. The elbow-spikes, usually hidden by looser sleeves, were new to her as well. She might have found him attractive for a middle-aged man, if not for the bizarre, off-putting fleshbeak and forked tongue.  
    "Good, you're home," Snowman said as she gently kicked the door shut. Eggs waved his hands about and wriggled out of her grasp as she lessened it.  
    "It ain't even all my ideas!" Eggs blathered on, "Biscuits-- he said to do this stuff! I dunno why I listen to him! He's dumb! I'm dumb too 'cause I keep doin' the stuff he tells me to do!" His shoulders slumped, face fell. "I'm... really dumb. But I'm sorry! I shouldn't listen to him no more. I shouldn't..."  
    She palmed her face, marked with exasperation, and turned to Quarters with spread hands as Eggs continued on and on.  
    "He's been acting like this all-- haven't you noticed?"  
    Quarters came in closer to Eggs. He looked him over.  
    "Yes," he said. Eggs stopped talking as his eyes met Quarters' perpetual poker face, unsure by that nigh-unreadable expression of whether or not he was in any trouble.  
    Yes, Quarters certainly had noticed, and heard odd murmurs winding about the house, about Eggs. It was glaring to him in this moment, how Eggs looked at him with that uncertainty in his eyes, gauging him, perhaps trying to decide if he should make a break for the window.  
    "Are you alright, Eggs? Have you seen Stitch lately?"  
    Though his words were calm, tinted with real concern, it made him no less tense. Eggs shook his head rapidly.  
    "I feel pretty good!" he said quickly. "I only seen him when I took Biscuits to him, when he hurted himself. But I'm okay. I just...."  
    "You just...?"  
    Eggs fidgeted. "I just feel kinda different? In my head," he lightly tapped his skull with a finger. "I been noticing things I didn't never see before." He dug into his pocket, feeling and removing his timer. Snowman and Quarters braced themselves, preparing for a barrage of ringing and for cramped quarters. His fingers, however, never turned that dial. They lay on it, stationary, as he continued to speak, his words slow and careful now. "And I been kinda sad. Like, when I use my toy, when me and Biscuit is lonely. I keep thinkin' 'bout that last time, when Crowbar almost hit Biscuits. He coulda," Eggs gulped, "he coulda killed him, right?  
    "And he did it before, lots of times. To all the mes. He's... he's been killing me and Biscuits. And, it kinda scares me, 'cause, 'cause... what if that was me?"

    "Well," Quarters said after a long moment. "That was... unexpected," he said to Snowman.  
    "I think Crowbar might have finally knocked some sense into him," she said, similarly stunned. Quarters made a non-committed sound.  
    "Does he hate me?" Eggs said, lip wavering.  
    He placed a comforting hand on Eggs' shoulder. "No. Crowbar does not enjoy killing you," he said sincerely.  
    "Really? But he keeps doin' it," Eggs said as he hugged his chest. "I didn't think he cared 'bout us."  
    "He cares more than you know. He does not do this to you for fun. It," he fished for words Eggs would understand, "it makes things difficult for Stitch, when you use that timer."  
    "Okay," Eggs said quietly. Snowman and Quarters were sure they were told this before, long ago, until they realized that explanation would do no good. He tried to place his timer in Quarters' hands. "I don't wanna use this thing so much no more."  
    He gently refused it. "Perhaps I can teach you to use it more smartly?"  
    With those words, Eggs' face suddenly lit up. Snowman had to smile, finding that flash of joy quite adorable. She faded out, satisfied that her problem was about to be taken care of.  
     
    These "toys" did not come with instruction manuals, and those whom would know anything about them were never around or accessible. The Felt had been left to fend for themselves, with immortality and powerful time-manipulating artifacts and abilities. It was Crowbar who stepped up, becoming their defacto leader when no one else would, or should. And Quarters and Matchsticks came to stand right by his side, and together, they learned to use their new powers.  
    In their time together, they had come to know each other's powers and limitations quite well. Never as well as the user, however, especially if its user barely knew his own potential.  
    The timer brought duplicates of its user and whatever its user carried from the near future. It had often been pondered if they could be sent back. Eggs, of course, had no idea. He had hardly began to comprehend the time aspect of his ability, until Quarters sat the both of them down and slowly explained to him, in the most basic way he could manage, all that he and others had managed to gather from observation.  
    "Hey, that's kinda neat," Eggs had said after letting it sink in. "What 'bout Biscuit? Does he got powers like that?"  
    "Well," Quarters leaned back in his chair, fingering his favorite coin as he thought. "...Not that I know of."  
    "But he gots that oven," Eggs said, making a box with his fingers. "It's gotta do something! Other than being a super good hiding place."  
    "Perhaps it does, but it is only he that can find this out. I... do not forsee this happening any time... soon."  
    "'Cause he's...." Eggs balked slightly at the words. "...dumb. I mean, both of us is."  
    "You are not dumb," Quarters said. He cocked his head at Eggs, looked into those large, thoughtful eyes where days ago one would see nothing. "You... are not dumb."  
     
    Quarters kept a close watch on Eggs. His personality had not changed. He goofed off, got into fights with Biscuits, made up quickly, annoyed Crowbar when he and Matchsticks returned home. But he had stopped duplicating himself, completely, and had stopped bothering Snowman (as well as blocking Biscuits from doing it himself). Lessons learned had never stuck more than perhaps a few hours until now.  
    Eggs noticed Quarters watching him. He did not mind, and decided to take advantage. He started asking him questions, advice, and much to Quarters' mild surprise and delight, he took his answers to heart. He practically made a project of him; he even took notes.  
     
    "Oh my god, Quarts. If you love Eggs so much, go marry him."  
    "Sorry," Quarters laughed and sipped at his drink, his forked tongue running over his soft-beaked lips. The atmosphere was warm, Dersites and Prospitans, some even of rival gangs-- some Hatchets, some Black Knights, paying the squishy green men no mind. This tavern, Desert Rose, was silently considered sanctuary.  
    He and Matchsticks and Crowbar went out drinking on those rare nights when the three of them could sneak out together. Sometimes Desert Rose, though fights sometimes occurred even here just like any other bar, especially should the Midnight Crew show up. Quarters kept track of their rotation, and of venues that they were outright banned from, a list that was growing almost as fast as the city was birthing new bars.  
    "I just wanted to share with someone."  
    "Yeah, yeah," Crowbar shrugged. Teasingly, he said, "that's the price you pay for having friends. They talk at you." He held up a fist, moving his thumb up and down creating an ersatz mouth.  
    "But, have you given it any thought?" Quarters continued. "I think he would do well with an actual role. He only needs a little instruction."  
    "Then you teach him," Crowbar said. "My patience stretched thin enough tryin' to get these idiots to follow instructions, let alone... _him_."  
    "Maybe you just a shit teacher, Cro. Ever think of that?" Matchsticks sneered.  
    "Hey, it ain't me," Crowbar said. "Isn't just Eggs and Biscuits. Runnin' that house... it's like fucking daycare sometimes. I always wanted kids but anymore I ain't so sure."  
    "You don't have to be the boss, y'know," Matchsticks said. "English is supposed to be doing that."  
    "English is a fucking deadbeat!" Crowbar suddenly shouted, slamming his fist onto the table, startling his companions and the Dersites and Prospitans around them. "I mean," he breathed deeply and relaxed his shoulders. "I mean, they're a bunch of pains in my ass, but... I can't just gonna abandon them."  
    Quarters was always moved by Crowbar's vehement refusal to give up, to walk away and never come back, though he always seemed to teeter on the edge of that ultimatum. He reached across the table and took Crowbar's hand in his, a comforting gesture.  
    "Quarts," Crowbar patted Quarters' hand with his free one. Warmly, he said, "Quarters, I love you, but you're such a fag sometimes."  
    Quarters chuckled and squeezed his hand before drawing away. Matchsticks had a few jokes on the tip of his tongue that he decided to withhold.  
    "If I start teaching Eggs," he said, "you will give him a chance? You will not walk out on him?"  
    "You know the answer to that," Crowbar said. "You know I trust you."  
    Quarters nodded. He took out his notepad, checking it over. A few minutes later, he said, "Ah, a new bar opened recently. The _G-Spot_. Perhaps we should check it out."  
    Crowbar shrugged. "Sure, if we can find it."

    It was another warm night, drawing most of the Felt away from the house. The plans for tomorrow had them pulling together another large heist, which they should have been resting and preparing for. With the gift of time manipulation came the freezing of the aging process, and most of them were frozen relatively young. They went out, and they made the most of this perfect night.  
    Few of them stayed home. Die was a recluse, Cans an introvert, Doze was satisfied to nap, Stitch only wanted to relax. Eggs and Biscuits were not trusted far from home.  
    The house was rarely empty, but the Midnight Crew rarely had an opportunity like this. Crowbar and his right hand men were away, all three, spotted walking into Desert Rose. Spades Slick watched them from his car, pointed teeth grit, murderous desire welling up in him. How so much violence and rage could possibly fit into such a scrawny, almost child-sized body was boggling. Slick gripped his weapon, ready to run out and start a fight when Diamonds Droog placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, pulling him back.  
    It would be all too easy to snap back and drive a dagger into his chest. But he did not, and he breathed deep and calmed himself. Instead Slick slowly turned, eyes shaped like slits staring at Droog. The cold, lanky man was his friend, he sometimes had to remind himself. It was a volatile friendship.  
    Slick knew that they were unprepared for a random scrap with those three particular Felt. He knew too well, and so did Droog. But seeing them incited Slick. He had bitten his lip when he saw them, drew blood which he spat out the window and wiped the remainder with his sleeve. Droog groaned as if Slick ruining his clothing personally offended him.  
    It amused Slick, transforming his grimace into a grin.  
    "Let's kill their friends for fun."

    With a great shove, Hearts Boxcars' massive form brought the front door of the house down, after spending what was apparently 'too long' attempting to pick the lock legitimately.  
    "Oh just knock the damn thing down!" he had hissed, his temper shortened since Droog apparently had better things to do than mindlessly kill. Clubs Deuce would have done anything for anyone, and apparently decided to join Droog in whatever he had planned for the day. It was just the two of them, spending quality time together.  
    Boxcars did not mind indulging Slick in this bloodsport, for the most part. He had long, long grown complacent with murder, and it mattered even less when the victims always managed to get better. He hated this house, however. The empty, dark place creaked and moaned like a creature dying, and the endless ticking and tocking of clocks was maddening. Slick smashed whatever clocks he came across, property of the Felt or not, and Boxcars could not blame him. They entered, grimaced at the endless green, skulking down the hallway stretching out from the foyer. As they came upon the stairs, they started to hear noises.  
    _RIIING_  
    Oh fuck no.  
    The two stopped abruptly, brandishing their weapons-- Slick's cast iron horse hitcher, Boxcars with a mourning star. He shuddered as the ringing echoed through the halls. Murder was no hobby to him, not like Slick. He would not personally go out of his way to kill someone. But for Eggs? Eggs was different. (And Biscuits, he hated Biscuits, although alone he really should not incite such furious feelings.)  
    As if on cue, Eggs appeared from the dark hall, timer clutched tightly to his chest. He approached them slowly, almost nervously, and it unsettled Boxcars deeply seeing him act so cautiously for once. He hesitated. Slick did not.  
    He raised his knife, ready to leap at Eggs' throat and gut him, but when his feet left the floor, they did not return. He had been snatched from behind, arms pinioned to his body as he was lifted and restrained, and Boxcars could do nothing as two duplicate Eggs took him by surprise and held him as well. He swore he felt them shaking, hearts racing as he struggled against their tight grasp.  
    Slick kicked and cursed as his cards accidentally spilled from his hands onto the floor. The Eggs in front of them kept a safe distance, eyes wide, quiet for he could not, for once, find anything to say.  
     
    Matchsticks and Crowbar could hardly believe what had happened while they were away, but they had no reason to disbelieve the words of Cans and Stitch, having appeared on the scene shortly after Eggs had captured the two Dersites. Even after flicking them each away, Cans had remained in a state of semi-disbelief. Quarters looked at Eggs with his version of a smile.

    "Crowbar's gotta get rid of them, don't he?" Eggs ruefully said, voice muffled by the kitchen table he half-lay on, slumped over in his chair. Quarters sat across from him and poured him a drink. Eggs took it reluctantly, his expression saying something like _whiskey? you sure?_  
    Quarters had pulled him into the kitchen for this reason. To make him forget. He was disappointed to find that this tactic would not work.  
    "Yes," he nodded sadly. "He-"  
    "-I know," Eggs said. He straightened himself slightly and held up the glass of whiskey, staring at it a moment before tasting it. He shuddered deeply. "He-he's gotta do it, or it screws up the timesquares or something. I'm sorry."  
    "Timeline. And, no need to be sorry," Quarters insisted. "You did well."  
    "But I'm sorry for the other mes, too. You know, that big guy, Boxcars, he really scares me! Since, well, I started to figure out what he been doing to my copies," he gulped. "I bet they was real freaked out while they was holding him down. I kinda was. But they did good, and this's what they get."  
    "Yes. That is unfortunate," he sincerely said. "But you cannot simply stop using your timer."  
    "Why not? Biscuits and me did fine before we got that thing."  
    "What of today? What would have happened?"  
    Eggs looked up at Quarters, considering, swirling his finger about the rim of his glass. Quarters continued.  
    "Think of it as an emergency button, not to be used every day."  
    "Do you got a power like mine?" Eggs said. "I never seen you use yours."  
     
    Quarters never gave him a real answer to that. Though still he was loathe to use it, he held onto the timer, keeping it on him at all times. It weighed heavily in his pocket and on his mind, a thing that bothered him deeply. He wondered why it took so long for him to realize. Or, how he suddenly realized it.  
    And they, the other Felt, all noticed. They passed him by with strange looks, and sometimes personal questions. He became frustrated. Even Biscuits, the dense manchild he loved as a brother, irritated him to the point where he could barely stand it.  
   _I don't know! I don't know, don't know what's wrong with me!_  
    Eggs left the room he shared with Biscuits in a huff, straining not to slam the door behind him. The suns had just started to set. He leaned against the wall of the manor watching them fall below the glowing cityscape. Snowman rested in a chair nearby, cloaked in the shadows of the house, the glow of her cigarette revealing her. She sat there quietly, having not stirred at all watching Eggs storm out from the door and practically throw himself against the wall. He failed to even notice her there until he had calmed down some.  
    Never was he the quiet type, always the first to strike up conversation, but tonight he appreciated being ignored. She smoked silently, tolerating his presence until she finally faded away.  
    He stung when he and Biscuits were left behind on a major heist, again. The house was so empty, and it moaned and echoed as he strolled through the halls and the ticking and tocking became blindingly evident. It stabbed his brain. And several times he thought he saw flashes of something trailing him, just him. He decided to dismiss it. Paranoia, time travel shenanigans, stress.  
    Biscuits followed him quietly, reluctant to speak, worried that his words would offend somehow. He relearned every day that Eggs was different, sometimes every hour. Eggs wanted to talk. He was a social creature, but his friend's worries were not formed of nothing. He felt so alone.  
    He fingered the timer in his pocket, the little dose of medicine that could relieve him. But he refrained. Instead, he turned and he looked straight into Biscuits, whom eyed him meekly in return.  
    Eggs opened his mouth to speak, not quite knowing what to say. Words uneasily came working their way out from the back of his mind.  
    "You lonely, too?" he said. "We live in this big house with a buncha guys, but we're still alone, you 'n me."  
    Biscuits said nothing, letting Eggs speak.  
    "We're in this gang, but we don't hardly do nothin'. They only ever taken us 'cause of this thing here." He brought the timer out, touched the dial but did not turn it. "We like their _oh shit_ button, but we screwed it up worse for them more 'n the other guys. Now I don't use it no more and now we're'n here, alone.  
    "I don't wanna be alone, I know you don't neither. I wanna fix it. Be of some kinda use. I gotta make 'em respect me, and then I can make 'em respect you, too. I'll find a way."

    He had accidentally fallen asleep, one night, slumped against the cold manor wall. A series of kicks to his side wrested him awake. Once his eyes fluttered open and focused he saw Trace hovering over him, shoving his side with his foot.  
    "What?" Eggs demanded. Trace backed off.  
    "Most folks don't like to sleep on no concrete and brick," he shrugged and picked up a sack of stolen goods that he had set down, slinging it over his shoulder with a little difficulty; he was a small, slight man, and the top of the sack had been torn and tattered with the scrabbling of his little claws. Once he gained purchase enough, Trace, looking quite exhausted, started towards the door.  
    "Thanks, I guess," Eggs murmured and adjusted a bit. He indicated the bag, saying, "you do that yourself?"  
    "Yeah," Trace turned slightly, his partially-webbed hand still on the door. His tone was curt.  
    Eggs easily picked up on Trace's eagerness to leave, but he had not had a real conversation the entire day. Even this little bit of unfriendly small talk helped.  
    "You see the future, or past, or somethin', right? Must make it easy."  
    "Past. And I don't need to," he said proudly. He lowered his loot sack once again, and faced Eggs. "I can't never turn it off, not without-- I used to do it all the time before all this."  
    "You think I could do it?"  
    Trace snorted brief laughter.  
    "What makes you think you even got a chance, baby grand?"  
    "What makes you think I don't?" Eggs straightened himself, though his bravado was not nearly what it appeared on the outside.  
    "I just said," Trace gently nudged Eggs' side with his foot. "Big guys ain't supposed to be sneakin'."  
    "Bet I could if I wanted to."  
    "Yeah, sure," Trace smiled, showing off his rows of sharpened shark teeth. All of the acid had left his voice. Now he was amused and curious. "No... yeah, I wanna see this. No, really. Ohh!" He snapped his fingers. "Hell, I can teach you to do it, then Crowbar'll send ya on these little damn missions! Then I can solve your crimes."  
    "...What?"  
    "Uh, nothin'," Trace waved his hands. "Nothin', just I got this hobby-- don't worry none, it's nothin'. Shit," he breathed, losing his smile. "Gettin' ahead of myself. Look at you. You're huge. Not Cans-huge but you're pretty damn huge! I don't gotta see no past trails to know where you been stompin' round-"  
    "-I get it!" Eggs said. "I never tried to be sneaky before, but that just means you gotta, uhh, what's it called. Blank. I'm all blank," he spread his hands. "So it's got all this room for you to be teachin' me. I'll be the best at sneaking!"  
    Trace shifted his weight, becoming quiet for a long moment.  
    "Yeah, alright," he said. "I'll teach ya. Starting tomorrow."

 

    The suns had just set and the neon of the city blotted out any stars that may have shown otherwise. Draped completely in black with a backpack over his shoulder, he crouched in the shadow of a darkened ally. So long as he sat completely still, he was not too visible, but his breathing was heavy, and his hands shook ever so slightly. He rolled back his sleeve to look at the watches covering his wrist, then watched the street, trash skirting across the cracked asphalt with the slight breeze. The buildings all were tattooed in graffiti and blood. The soft scream of cars passing was distant.  
    The manhole across the way popped up from its slot and slid over and off, the sound loud and grating, making him wince. One by one, black-carapaced figures climbed out of the hole, grumbling and arguing amongst themselves. They crossed the street and entered the banged-up garage on the other side and soon, in a flurry, their car screeched out of there.  
    He remained merged in shadow for several minutes, steeling himself to move until he forced himself up and across the street, to the manhole. He kept reminding himself that these past weeks of practice, the additional week of scouting, had prepared him enough, that he would do fine, should do fine. He pried it open and slid down the sturdy ladder and into the main room. On each wall were doors marked with card suits and a hallway leading into darkness. In the room's center was a table, coins and knives scattered atop it. Under them were heist plans. He slid the plans free, rolling them up and slipping them into his pack, and replaced his prize with one of Biscuits' doodles.  
    _SCCCHHH_  
    He nearly dropped his bag. Quickly, he composed himself and darted towards the nearest door, fumbling the knob before finally pulling it open and locking it shut before propping himself against the other side. There was the gentle _clink clink clink_ of someone descending the ladder and plopping down ungracefully onto the floor and stumbling across it. There was the scooch of the table as if it were crashed into, shuffling of trinkets and paper, and as soon as he had come, the mystery person was heading out the exit again.  
    He exhaled with relief.  
    The dark room was all black save for splashes of red and the silver of blades and white of scattered cards. Above him, pinned to the door via knives were photos, many many photos, and most of them were Felt. All of them had been crudely scribbled over and commentated. The dearth of marker mustaches left him aghast. He found a pen and remedied this immediately.  
    Someone was missing from the gallery: Snowman. He wondered where her photo was, and began searching the bed and desk for it, pocketing anything particularly shiny or edible, and of course any money. The dog magazine caught and held his attention for a moment as he flipped through it. A photo fluttered out from between the pages.  
    A subdued _wow_ slipped out from under his breath as he stared at the photo of Snowman. A lump of guilt welled up deep in him as he pocketed this as well, his last prize before leaving and breaking for the Felt manor.

    "What the hell is this?" Crowbar said, crumpled up the sheet of paper and tossed it back at Trace. Shocked, he squatted down to pick the wad up, nearly losing his balance as he stood and peeled it away from itself. It took him a moment to realize: these were not heist plans.  
    "But I didn't... I- this was... nevermind," Trace balled up the sheet once more and tossed it in the trash by Crowbar's desk. He started back towards the exit, swaggering like a drunk, jolting as he overreacted to a past trail. Crowbar arced an eyebrow.  
    "You... okay, Trace?" he said.  
    "Uhh, fine," Trace shrugged off the question with a dismissive hand wave. He opened the door and crashed into Eggs.  
    "Trace! I-"  
    Trace quickly slunk away without looking up. Eggs watched him go, stumbling down the hall, then gave a few cursory knocks before entering the study and presenting his catch.  
    "You can't be serious," Crowbar said after looking the recovered plans over carefully, "How did you get-?" He muttered: "...good work, Eggs."

    "H-hey," Trace said as he caught up to Eggs. "You done pretty good."  
    "What happened last night?" Eggs said. He looked down at Trace, steady on his feet now but looking more sleepless than usual. The bags under his red, hazy eyes had bags. As they spoke those eyes darted around, easily distracted by that only he could see. "Trace?"  
    Trace frowned and scanned the hall briefly, looking this time for people that were here in the present. His hand slipped into his coat, taking a small vial out from his pocket and holding it close. It was nearly empty, its remaining contents reddish-orange dust.  
    "I told you, 'member, I can do it without my power," he said in hushed tones. "I been outta practice a bit, gotten complacent some-"  
    "What is it?" Eggs whispered back, unsure as to why he should be whispering.  
    "Merlin," Trace said. Eggs thought hard. He recognized that name, had heard it tossed around before. He had no idea what it was. "The drug, merlin," Trace clarified. "I can't see no trails no more when I take a bit of this," he said and gently shook the vial between his thumb and forefinger before putting it away. "But I ain't exactly on the ball neither. Don't tell no one I got this shit. Especially don't tell Crowbar. Got it?"  
    "Uh, yeah, sure," Eggs said.  
    "Anyway, enough 'bout that," he said, voice returning to normal, "You done good. I just gotta wonder... I mean, I heard things. Things goin' round 'bout you, and I now I seen it myself. I don't mean no offense but, you been playing dumb all this time so you ain't gotta do nothin'? Suddenly decided you want you some respect? Is Biscuits in on this shit? It's a pretty good fucking scam you had goin' then. Should'a thought of that myself!"     
    "What? No," Eggs shook his head. "No. I just, uh," he hesitated as he tried to find the words. "I just... woke up."  
    "Woke up, huh," Trace cocked his head and smiled. "Maybe you been playin' with that egg timer too much."  
 _Maybe_ , Eggs thought. _Maybe._

"He ain't that smart."  
    Itchy sucked on a cigarette as he aimed at the cue ball, the stick practically vibrating in his unsteady hands.  
    "He ain't that fucking smart," he said, "he ain't that special. What's he gettin' all this attention for?" Itchy struck the ball, sending it sailing over the table and into Doze's head. He fell backwards with a thud and a quiet grunt.  
    "Jesus," Crowbar said, kneeling down to check on him. "Maybe lay off the fucking coffee and smokes a bit?"  
    "Fuck you!" Itchy shouted, sending the cue stick to the floor.  
    "I'm okay," Doze said, sitting up. With a smile, he said, "I'm fine, Itchy, in case you were wondering."  
    "I'm wondering," Itchy narrowed his eyes at Crowbar as he stood up, "why you're plannin' on taking Eggs on a job instead of me."  
    Crowbar rolled his eyes and sighed deeply.  
    "Is this the only reason why you asked me to play?"  
    "Yeah, it is."  
    "Well," Crowbar said, "for one thing, he's not a fucking prick."  
    "I'm a fucking prick?" Itchy laughed and took a drag off his cig. "Being honest is a prick thing now?"  
    "The way you go about it? Yeah, it is," he said.  
    "Come on," Itchy said, leaning over the pool table, resting on his hands. He shook involuntarily as his arms supported him. "Come on. He don't know shit from shit. You don't really feel safe puttin' a fucking gun in his hands, do ya?"  
    Itchy's jittering hands made Crowbar grimace.  
    "I don't feel so good about you waving no gun 'neither."  
    "But at least I know how to use one! Eggs is a fucking idiot. He can barely read!"  
    "He's workin' on that," Crowbar said. "And he's learning."  
    "Um," Doze quietly said, rubbing the black and blue bruise forming on his forehead. "We're done playing, aren't we? That's alright. I'm just... going to go lay down. Right here."  
    Crowbar found the whole situation a conflicting thing. He had seen Eggs' progress with his own eyes. It was a welcome change. But his friend, Quarters, was prone to obsession, something he and Matchsticks knew well. It was tiring. Even when Quarters caught himself talking about his 'project' and shifted the subject out of courtesy, it was always ready to breach. And that was when they managed to get together at all.  
    
    "I'm not bugging you, am I? Distracting you?"  
    Eggs had seen the way Quarters' friends looked at him, especially Crowbar. It was the same way Biscuits had been looking at him lately. Quarters' eyes widened in mild surprise or remembrance when he saw Matchsticks pass and greet him briefly at the kitchen door. Brief, because he immediately spotted Eggs sitting there with him.  
    "Not I," Quarters said to Eggs, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Cro and Sticks, however...."  
    Eggs had been growing to learn to read Quarters' natural poker face. His posture and gestures and eyes spoke loudly, if one would listen. And what they said now was obvious to him: he would have liked to be with his friends.  
    "I think I got it now," Eggs said, half-truthfully. He smoothed over the mock plans with his hands. "Can I take a break?"  
    Quarters stood and leaned over to lightly touch Eggs' shoulder.  
    "Thank you," he said, and left to follow Matchsticks, calling after him.  
    Eggs lay his head over the table, eyes peeking over his folded arms at the plans in front of him. The schematic was of their own house, a copy, tattooed with different colored pens representing individual Felts, special instructions written in Quarters' tight cursive, and Eggs' doodles in the empty corners and edges.  
    He sat up slightly at the sound of heavy footsteps that he recognized immediately as Cans'. When he looked up, the usually gentle behemoth was all that he saw, moving past the table and towards the fridge. Eggs couldn't help but smile seeing the large, powerful man in dainty reading glasses.  
    Eggs greeted him, and Cans quietly returned it and a polite smile. He said, "Doing well?"  
    "Yeah, pretty good," Eggs said and turned back to the plans on the table. "You like to read a lot?"  
    Cans felt the glasses on his face, apparently having forgotten that he had been wearing them. Eggs pointed at a word on the sheet.  
    "Can you tell me what this word is? Quarts told me once but I forgot."  
    Cans loomed over him, engulfing him in his shadow. It would have been frightening if he was not familiar with the man.  
    "Timeline," Cans said clearly.  
    Eggs rested his head in his palms, staring at the word. "Oh. I seen that word before, but it looks different now."  
    "Well, this is cursive," Cans said.  
    "It's confusing," Eggs lamented.  
    "Are you," Cans said carefully, "just memorizing words? Like pictures?"  
    "Uhh... is that wrong?"  
    Cans pulled out one of the sturdier chairs, and sat beside him. "When you start out, you need to learn the sounds of all the letters, and how to put them together."  
    "Oh, that alphabet thing?" Eggs said. "That song that sounds like _twinkle twinkle little star_?" he said in sing-song, swinging his hands in arcs to the song. "I always liked that song."  
    Cans could not help but smile. "Yes, that alphabet thing. And once you've been reading for a long time, you'll memorize words on your own, and you wont need to sound them out anymore. It'll be automatic."  
    Without a moment's thought, Eggs asked, "can you teach me?"  
    Cans blinked. He thought, palmed his chin. Eggs looked up at him with pleading eyes. "I'm a fast learner!" he insisted. "Well, pretty fast. And you'd be super awesome for helping me."  
    Cans breathed deep. He shrugged. "Alright. I'll teach you."

    Despite all appearances, Cans certainly was no dumb brute. It did not take long for even Eggs and Biscuits to figure this out after first encountering him, although that time in which they did not know him was spent in relative fear, shouting and dashing for safety should he accidentally surprise either of them.  
    Cans never struck them. He had never struck any of them, save for Itchy on occasion (he always deserved it) and Eggs always found it strangely fascinating, how restrained he was. He knew that if he had Cans' temporal power, even minus his strength, he would use it liberally, just for fun.  
    But not Cans, never. Shy and gentle and intelligent, a mind born to the wrong body. Eggs became used to it. He could not imagine Cans any other way.  
    He skirted between sessions with Quarters and Cans, learning to be a criminal and learning to read and write. It was not as difficult as he imagined it would be, memorizing the sounds of the alphabet, putting them together. Concepts that he could not wrap his mind about before were somehow glaringly obvious now.  
    Then one day, he walked in on Cans practicing on his specially-made flute, a piano record playing in the background to which he improvised to. Never had he known this flute's source before, nor had he ever truly listened to it. It was energetic and jazzy with a temporal flavor filling the room and enticing Eggs into bouncing his head to the rhythm. He was stricken with inspiration like a fist to the gut.  
    "Teach me to play like that!" he practically shouted. "I don't care if I can read if I could play like that!"  
    He was inspired and jealous and then excited when Cans sighed and agreed to squeeze some lessons in. Eggs pictured his cowbell with disdain, ready to defenestrate it and take up something more interesting.  
    Cans brought him instruments, many different instruments, all of which Eggs tried. All of which Eggs failed to play with any modicum of skill. Not for lack of trying or listening; he was simply terrible.  
    Unfortunately, he refused to stop practicing. He even snuck them away and shared them with Biscuits. Cans could not apologize enough for them.

    "Eggsy!" Biscuits dropped his drum sticks. "You really gotta go again? Let's play s'more!"  
    Eggs hovered at the door to their room, fingering the flute in his hands.  
    "I don't... need to," Eggs said. "But I want to!"  
    "Why?" Biscuits said, standing up to meet him. "You never cared 'bout none of this stuff before."  
    Eggs turned away, guilt preventing him from leaving right then and there.  
    "You just don't get it."  
    "No I don't!" Biscuits said defiantly, reflexively as if having been insulted. He repeated himself, more calmly, "I mean. No, I don't."  
    "I'll be back," Eggs meekly said.  
    Biscuits touched his arm. "What do I do while you're gone?"  
    "What've you been doing?" said Eggs, inclining his head. Biscuits shrugged. He reached down and touched Eggs' pocket, the timer, with his usual lack of regard for personal space.  
    "What 'bout this thing?" he almost pleaded. "Can't ya use it? Just today?"  
    "I... can't. It's... broken," he lied, uneasily. "We used it too much and we broke it."  
    "Oh," Biscuits murmured, accepting this as far as Eggs could tell. "Can you fix it?"  
    "I don't know," Eggs said, placing his hand on the doorknob. "Maybe some day."  
    "Oh. 'Kay then." Biscuits, steps heavy, returned to the bed and sat on the side. "Then have fun, Eggsy."  
    Eggs opened the door and moved out, a heavy squirming feeling settling itself in his heart as he shut the door and left Biscuits behind him, alone again. Almost he was tempted to call to him, invite him to join, but he knew his friend too well.  
    Eggs was torn, drifting further away from Biscuits, distressing them both. But he loved learning, practicing, gaining back all that he felt that he had missed out over the years. He found the time, forced it. He would make it up to Biscuits.

    "Look in your oven. I got you a surprise!" Eggs said. Biscuits' weary frown swiftly disappeared. He eagerly dashed to the oven, practically skidding on his knees as he pulled the door open. It was full of toilet paper.  
    Eggs had cleared his entire schedule, to spend it with Biscuits, tp-ing the entire Felt manor. Crowbar was far from amused.  
    "You know you live here too, yeah?"  
    Eggs and Biscuits both chortled, "you do too!"  
    Crowbar stood and lightly bopped both Eggs and then Biscuits on the head with his crowbar, a warning. Then, a threat.  
    "Get that shit off of the house," he said, shooting Eggs a look like a mixture of disappointment and _not this shit again_ and it pierced through Eggs as he imagined losing all that respect he had been attempting to build. The risk he took against the Midnight Crew, the weeks he spent learning to steal from them....  
    "I ain't gonna kill you but I can get damn close," Crowbar finished, narrowing his eyes. Eggs and Biscuits straightened and made for the door, knowing full well that he would not balk on his threat. Crowbar called Eggs as he was halfway through the exit of his office.  
    Eggs hesitated and turned his head, some parts nervous and slightly regretful and other parts bubbling up and making him smile, which he quickly caught and quelled. But Crowbar's expression had softened slightly.  
    "You're alright, Eggs. Don't be so scared," he said and lifted his crowbar and bounced it on his palm. With a cheeky smile he said, "but I will kick your ass if you don't take care of the mess you made. You can be scared plenty about that."  
    "Uhh, yessir!" Eggs quickly said. He lifted his hand in a half-wave and ran after Biscuits.  
    Eggs found that he did not regret this, though Biscuits whined a bit at first. He quickly warmed up to the work, knowing that Eggs was there being punished with him. The whole day was a pleasant break from intelligent conversation for Eggs, his chance to be his old self for a little while, though sometimes he noticed, he confused Biscuits. Explaining things to him made for an interesting challenge.  
    "Wait, that's cursive?! I thought that squiggly word stuff was just how girls write."  
    "Well, you don't got to be a girl. Quarts writes in cursive."  
    Biscuits leaned in close. "Is he a girl?"  
    "I don't think so?" Eggs scratched his head. "I mean, he doesn't have..." Eggs cupped air in his hands at his chest. "Like Snowy."  
    "Clove' doesn't either and she's a girl," Biscuits insisted.  
    Eggs' froze a moment, as if having a revelation. "Whoa. Wait. Is Clover a girl?"  
    "She's gotta be a girl! Clover's a girl's name. And she wears purple. Girl color!"  
    Eggs slowly shifted his gaze to look directly at his friend. "Uh, Biscuit," he pointed to his own hat, "I wear purple."  
    "Eggsy," Biscuits gasped. "You're a girl too!"  
    "Am not!" Eggs protested. "...am I? No... I can't be, at least... I don't think... shut up Biscuit!"  
    It was a fair bit after sunset when they finished. Exhausted but pleased they walked together down the ticking halls.  
    Something flashed in Eggs' periphery. He thought nothing of it, assuming it was the work of another Felt. Such was normality in this house. Then they caught a glimpse of a flicker and transparent obsidian body slipping in and out of air, and there was no mistake whom this was. She was almost more beautiful like this, leaving just barely an impression and most everything to imagination. Then she solidified, became real, standing there, looking at Eggs and Biscuits. Presumably bracing herself.  
    Eggs had had little contact with Snowman. He did not count the shameful little liaisons under cover of darkness and blankets with her special photograph. Biscuits nudged Eggs roughly, insisting, talk to her or something dummy! Eggs gulped and straightened and nodded. Biscuits greeted Snowman heartily but briefly, and disappeared down the hall towards his room. Eggs ran up to join her side as she continued on her way, remaining solid.  
    "Can I walk you to your room, Snowy?" Eggs inquired sweetly. She smiled and sighed and murmured something that sounded like _sure why not_ , then put out her hand for Eggs to take, nevermind the fact that her room was only several feet away.  
    They paused at the door, and before Eggs could say much of anything, she blew him a friendly kiss and disappeared.


	2. MULTIPLICATION

_"-body floating in the Oasis lake-"_  
    The road stretched, drawn into the glow of the city, racing towards light at the end of the tunnel. Seeking freedom from the seedy slums that seemed to suck down light like a black hole. The van bouncing over cracks, imperfections, potholes, almost a bum, cut through the black with its bright beacon headlights.  
   _"-was given a full cavity search. Forty-seven lit sparklers were discovered insi-"_  
    Sawbuck drove, his attention split between the road and the radio knob. Sitting passenger-side was Crowbar, reclining back, feet resting on the dashboard, idly flicked a switchblade in and out. It was a bit of a nervous habit, and a bit of a dangerous one while Sawbuck was driving. A near-miss with a sign post-- a last second jerking of the wheel-- nearly drove the blade into his leg.  
    "Focus on driving!"  
    "S-sorry! Wont happen again... probably," Sawbuck sheepishly said, snapping back into proper driving position. Crowbar made a doubtful grunt.  
    "Yeah, sure. Here, I'll find something," Crowbar said as he put the switchblade away. He leaned forward and started station surfing, if only to keep Sawbuck from doing it himself.  
    Eggs lay across both seats in the back, propped up against the sliding door, excited and nervous for his first real job: a simple, quick robbery to ease him in.  
    He watched the scenery passing by the tinted window. Breathing scum seeped out from the derelict buildings of the slums, like vampires though only the whores sparkled. He watched as some unfortunate drunk stumbled down the unfinished sidewalk, to be ganked by a bandit with a knife. Dolled-up, barely-dressed dames (and a few men attempting to look like dames) propositioning themselves on the corners of the streets. Dealers in the dark alleyways, vendoring merlin and sopor slime and various sweets. Bums making trash can campfires, the only reliable light sources aside from the few street lamps that had yet to be smashed or stolen, making the whole area one of several sunspots dotting the otherwise neon city.  
    He had never really noticed all of this before, despite the manor's scenic location on the hill not too far from the slums. Despite having grown up in similar squalor. It would be depressing if he were not so amped up.  
   _"-in caution tape. The vigilante, whose identity is as of yet unknown, has so far targeted The Hatchet Gang, Violence Group, The Black Knights, Danger Specialists and Ghetto East Side."_  
    "Hey," Crowbar said, "Don't Stitch meet up with someone from the Hatchets every now and again?"  
    "I think," Sawbuck shrugged. "He, uh, doesn't really talk about that much, does he?"  
    _"-hints that the Midnight Crew are likely to be next."_  
    "Dead man walking," Crowbar said. "And, not really. Don't like talking 'bout it too much."  
    Eggs looked up from the window for a moment, the broadcast just catching his attention.  "How many other gangs'r out there? I thought it was just us and the Midnight Crew."  
    "They keep each other distracted. Mostly stay away from us and them," Crowbar said. "Long as the Crew ain't involved in our own business tonight we'll be fine. "

    Eggs' job was fairly simple: look intimidating and carry the money, but easy or not, he was quite proud of himself. The Prospitan girl running the cashier, scared as she was, could not help but be taken out of the moment when she caught Eggs periodically smiling at his accomplishment in progress. And then he would catch himself, and promptly put his meanface back on, and she would yelp and fill the bag faster.  
    Then, they tried to leave. The wide glass doors, flanked by  colorful windows that encompassed the entire front of the gaudy building, had been silently locked. The cashier ducked down below the counter when she caught sight of Crowbar glaring at her.  
    "Fuck," he said under his breath. Despite slight panic welling up in him, he managed to keep himself composed, and directed Eggs to take care of the barrier. He nodded, and hefted the two sacks of cash over one shoulder. He borrowed a hankerchief from Crowbar, flinging the cloth about his wrist to cover it one-handedly. Several hard blows to the glass had partially scuffed it. But mostly, it just hurt his hand.  
    Crowbar took his turn, drawing his revolver and backing up. Sounds of gunfire had the patrons and employees screaming and ducking for their lives. The fingers of spider-web cracks crept across the very surface of the door. Though still, even with a little, slightly reluctant help from Eggs' fist, the glass did not give way. Crowbar's slight panic grew into moderate panic, and Eggs' confidence began to drain from him as if he had sprung a courage leak.  
    A number of carapaced folks popped up from behind furniture and decor, the Felts' distress feeding their situational bravery. They were quickly cowed back into hiding when Eggs gave them that special threatening look he had been practicing in the bathroom mirror right before leaving home.  
    The worryingly-long delay encouraged Sawbuck to emerge from the still-running van. He approached the doors and attempted to open them, but his effort was similarly balked. The Prospitan girl peeked up from behind her counter, watching Sawbuck fruitlessly working the handle. Crowbar snatched her by the collar and demanded explanation.  
    "It's-it's broken again. Nothin' short of a bomb's gonna open up those doors, from either side," she said, trembling wildly. She was gently released, and this time instead of cowering she ran.  
    The barrier between the separated Felts stunted communication. Sawbuck transitioned into gestures. He banged on the glass in front of Eggs and mimed turning the dial on a pretend timer, mimicked knocking down the doors with the extra force. Eggs shook his head vehemently. He had told them how he felt. He had told them several times.  
    "How is this not a fucking emergency?" Crowbar shouted, shook, and still Eggs refused. Sawbuck watched them argue a few moments until something far behind them caught his eye. The wild thumping that started against the glass bade the two to pause and turn. They ducked as a bullet embedded itself in the glass above their heads.  
    "Drop the bags," Diamonds Droog said in his disjointedly light voice, a singer's voice, though he had never been known to do any such thing. His weapons, glock in one hand and shotgun in the other, were aligned with their heads.  
    Crowbar answered by aiming his revolver at Droog. Eggs felt for his own gun, until he realized that he had forgotten it. He heard Crowbar mutter something under his breath at him.  
    "If you shoot at us, Stitch'll only patch us up," Eggs said shakily. "We're not afraid of you!"  
    Without warning, Droog fired his glock at Crowbar's hand. Blood flowered and spattered and his gun struck the floor following a loud string of curses. Grasping his bleeding appendage, Crowbar stumbled back against the door, hitting it hard. Eggs made a move for the dropped revolver, but the shotgun barrel to the face gave him reason to hesitate. Droog backed him up to join his partner, pressing the shotgun against Eggs' neck, and aiming the glock at Crowbar's head.  
    "Still hurts," Droog said.  
    "Fuck you," Crowbar growled. A pained gasp escaped him as the bullet magically flickered and disappeared from his hand.  
    Eggs' fingers brushed against his pocket, feeling the form of the egg timer. He was loathe to do it, he was sure he would find some way to regret, even should this save them. But, ever so slowly, his arm moved, hand slipping into his pocket. The motion did not go unnoticed. Droog jammed the shotgun hard against his throat.  
    "If I see that thing, off goes your head," Droog said. "Stitch can't fix decapitation, can he? Much as I'd like to find out, this is a new suit. So, I want your hands where I can see them and the money at my feet."  
    "Okay," Crowbar seethed. Vain though Droog was, he would certainly shoot them down should they attempt anything. This offer to surrender was not born of any form of sympathy. It was a chance to save his suit. "Okay, fine, fucking fine. Eggs, give him what he wants."  
    He dropped the bags and up went their hands. Crowbar's injury was still in the process of mending, blood still welling and now dripping down his sleeve. Droog watched both of them intently with those slitted eyes, that emotionless face seemingly frozen forever in that one cold expression.  
    Clubs Deuce emerged from some dark corner of the casino, ready to whisk the bags away. How the child-like, child-sized man with such dulcet eyes became involved with Spades Slick and his Midnight Crew never ceased to amaze. Hearts Boxcars was not far behind. Over the increasing pounding of Eggs' heart he heard Crowbar's breathing quicken beside him. Three of the Midnight Crew, on Eggs' first night. Between images of Boxcars' jaws coming down on him, he wondered where Spades Slick was.  
    "Deuce, let Boxcars take care of that," Droog said, eyes constantly locked on the Felts, "Frisk them."  
    "Alrighty," Deuce said, blissfully unaware of the tension heavy in the air. Deuce confiscated the egg timer and whatever else he could find in Eggs' pockets. Even in this dire situation, Eggs found himself deeply lamenting that Deuce took the gumball he was hiding. The short Dersite then moved onto Crowbar, removing his switchblade and a wad of cash that was not there before. It was a secret gift to himself, from himself.  
    "No crowbar?" Droog said, his voice barely tinted with disappointment.  
    "Didn't think I'd need it," Crowbar murmured. In a rare show of affection, Droog patted the little man on the head, whom was now blowing a large pink bubble, then pocketed the goods.  
    "Now walk," Droog commanded Crowbar and Eggs, tipping his head at the back of the casino. His cohorts following, Droog escorted them down the pathways between tables and slot machines still flashing and sounding and Dersites and Prospitans nervously peeking out from behind them.  
    Inside the men's room, lavish, surprisingly well-kept, was where they stopped. There was evidence of a hasty exit by whomever had been occupying it some time before. A pile of chains sat piled in the corner, and a system of wires and boxes were perched in the urinals.  
     Boxcars took over. Eggs struggled like a frightened animal as he forced him to sit on one of the boxes, nearly freeing himself from the other's grasp until a warning shot reminded him to behave. He begrudgingly allowed his arms to be tightly chained up to the pipes behind him. Crowbar was given similar treatment.  
    Deuce entered the room, pink sticky gum speckling his face. He stretched up at the box sitting in the urinal near the entrance, tinkering with its timer a moment before disengaging.  
    "'Kay, bomb's all set! Let's get a wiggle on," he chirped. Boxcars fingered his face.  
    "Deuce, you've got... uh,"  
    "What?"  
    "Tick tock," Droog said and tapped his watchless wrist as he started out the door. The others promptly followed, Deuce picking at the stuck gum on the way out.  
    "At least tell us how much time-- oh they're gone."  
    Eggs hung his head. Crowbar shook his.  
    "Of all the times for you to use discretion...."  
    There was a sudden, ear-shattering blast.  
    But it did not come from the bombs they were sitting on. It was immediately obvious that Deuce blew the front door open.  
    "They have my timer!" Eggs cried.  
    "Worry 'bout it later," Crowbar said, voice level, "We got more pressing issues right now, like how we're about to be assfucked by explosions."  
    Eggs struggled with his restraints. The roughly-textured chains dug painfully into his skin as he pulled. He set his feet firmly against the wall-- the bomb between his legs making the position awkward-- and jerked and strained, stopping frequently due to the pain.  
    "Crowbar," Eggs said between pulls, breath ragged.  
    "Yeah?"  
    "Are you mad at me?"  
    Crowbar opened his mouth as if to say something. Words only came to him after a few silent seconds.  
    "...just pull. We got no time for this. Pull."  
    Eggs resumed his position and continued his effort, though now he could feel blood trickling down from his wrists. "I can do this too," he said haltingly. "It's just, my dupes...."  
    "Yeah, yeah, I know," Crowbar adjusted in his seat, "Not like I enjoy gettin' rid of 'em."  
    "I know. You yelled at me a lot."  
    Crowbar looked into Eggs, those big eyes moist and frustrated. His voice became gentle.  
    "That why you wont do it no more?"  
    "No!" Eggs sharply said, pausing again. "I mean, Quarts told me it weren't like this, but I wanna hear it from you. Don't you feel anythin' when you kill them?"  
    Crowbar deeply inhaled and exhaled. He shifted again. Slowly, solemnly, he spoke.  
    "Look... look, I'm sorry. It just has to be that way. I let more 'n one of you run around too long and... it just fucks everything, shreds that god-awful flashing coat, glitches up the universe a li'l more every day it keeps on. I said, I don't like doing it. I don't kill no one that don't deserve it unless I have to. You and him, you didn't deserve it. You didn't know nothin', you was just playing around, but I had to do it, and I had to do it with my crowbar. Seals off the wound you made so it don't get no worse while Stitch cleans it up. I'm sorry, I'm fucking sorry, couldn't even put you down clean.  
    "Do you even remember, that first time? Fuckton of you and Biscuits runnin' though the place, lasted 'round a week. Stitch couldn't fix all that shit, but he damn well tried, and I got my ass chewed out by everyone but English. English don't seem to give a fuck no matter what we do. And his, his, envoy, or whatever. He don't care neither. His mind is elsewhere, or something.  
    "So yes, Eggs, I felt somethin'. I was stressed and tired and... alone."  
    "What about your friends?" Eggs said. He was at rest again.  
    "We was still strangers then," he said, then he smiled wearily. "Quarts tried to 'save' me. He still does. But after that first week-"  
    "-after that," Eggs murmured, "you didn't come outta your room for a few days."  
    "And you kept knocking on my door."  
    "I was confused, 'cause you kept saying sorry the whole time. I get it now."  
    Crowbar fell silent until the ticking time bomb snapped him out of it, and he straightened and gave Eggs a hard look.  
    "Eggs. Keep pulling. You're almost there."  
    Without another word, Eggs increased his effort. The chains dug in deeper and the pipes came looser, and soon enough, he and the urinal and much of the plumbing were face down on the floor. His urge to vomit was superseded by his urge to not blow up.  
    He crawled on his knees towards the timer sitting in the far urinal, carrying the disgusting burden his back, pieces of wall falling off behind him, like a porcelain-shelled snail leaving a trail of drywall and tile. The box had the appearance of an alarm clock-- large digital face, numbers counting down with about a minute left. He examined the device, and found the button to deactivate the countdown. Eggs bumped the button with his nose. An electric monotone sounded off.  
    **> >PASSWORD<<**  
    "Password?!" Eggs blanched.  
    ** >>PASSWORD ACCEPTED: PASSWORD<<**  
    And the countdown stopped.  
    The thick tension in the room quickly dissipated.  
    "Holy crap that was close," Eggs chuckled. He made an arduous crawl towards Crowbar.  
    "Yeah," Crowbar said, voice dripping with relief, almost as giddy as his partner. "Get used to that." Eggs leaned in close, attempting to gnaw at the chains with his teeth. Crowbar angled his neck back.  
    "What the hell are you doing?"  
    "Uh, well my hands are kinda tied up at the moment." Eggs lifted his face and shot him a playful grin.  
    Crowbar sighed light-heartedly. He said, "crawl to the door and call for help. Bribe someone. I'm sure there're still people hiding."  
    Eggs, still restrained somewhat, could just get far enough to poke his head out of the restroom door and call out. Predictably enough, anyone still in hiding did not jump at the offer made by the original set of robbers. Eggs upped the reward money until, finally, one man cautiously stepped up and freed the two Felt. Once given a moment to admire the new, still painful bracelet-like stitches on his wrists, Eggs reached inside his hat and gave their carapaced rescuer the bills that Deuce had missed. Crowbar was not the only one whom had taken a personal little cut of the spoils.  
    "Guys, it's safe!" the man shouted as he made it to the blasted front door. The rest of the victims shot up and made themselves scarce, making sure to take whatever wasn't nailed to the floor with them.  
    The empty casino looked an utter mess. The neon lights just outside the massive gaping hole revealed all-- the scattered chips and coins, mixing with the debris of brick and shattered glass and remnants of tacky decor strewn all the way out into the street. The explosion had attracted onlookers, marveling at the destruction before them, and the two Felts emerging from the ruined maw of the casino. Eggs and Crowbar scanned the streets frantically for their getaway driver.  
    "Shit." Crowbar said under his breath, "Where'd baby grand run off to?"  
     "They're looking at us. We better-" Eggs whispered, tensing up. Crowbar grabbed his arm.  
    "-if you run, they'll definitely think we did this," he told him quietly. "Just walk."  
    Eggs gulped, and the two of them mingled into the crowd, the people giving them ample berth, but not without hushed murmurs and harsh scrutinization. They hit the sidewalk, eyes still peeled for their getaway car, among the rushing traffic racing down the street. The air was chill with the warning of a freezing desert winter, the cold penetrating their suits, breath materializing before them. Adrenaline could only keep one warm for so long.  
    A block or so into their stroll, one car in particular stood out as it swerved between traffic and pedestrians, skidding to a stop beside (almost into) the two Felts. It was a car that had seen much wear, its bullet-resistant glass obscuring the windows slightly with spider web tattoos. Makeshift armor was bolted on its sides, dented and  scuffed and warped.  
    The passenger door swung open, and there was Sawbuck in the driver's seat.  
    "Guns in the trunk," he said, "They stopped Droog down at the construction site for that new casino."  
    After each grabbing a personal army's worth of artillery, Crowbar hopped into the passenger seat, and Eggs in the back.  
    "Is Slick-- shi-!" Crowbar gasped as the car took off, accelerating to fuck-knows what speed. Just short of the crowd gawking at  the casino, it skated into a rapid u-turn, and nearly scared the crap out of both passengers.  
    "-fucking hell! I know we gotta rush but at least give a god damned warning before you pull that shit!"  
    "Sorry!" Sawbuck quickly, sheepishly said. "I just-- uhh-- sorry!"  
    "And if we crash and you hurt yourself then--!"  
    "I-I know, I just... sorry."  
    Crowbar rubbed his temples with his uninjured hand. Slowly, he said, "S'alright... now, is Slick with them?"  
    "Didn't see him," Sawbuck said, straightening up and driving in a less insane manner, hands clamped onto the steering wheel as if his life depended on it.  
    "What's our side lookin' like?"  
    "We've got, um, let's see, Fin, Trace, Matchsticks, Clove', Quarters, and Doze," Sawbuck said. "Couldn't reach anyone else but Biscuits. 'Sticks got him, uh, guarding the house."  
    "...Jesus, he's not alone is he?"  
    "Hey," Eggs said, "Long as he's got something to doodle on, he can't hurt nothing.Um, unless he doesn't, and uses the wall like we... usually do."  
    "Great."  
    The sound of gunfire greeted them as the construction site appeared over the horizon. A plain wooden sign marked the territory, _The future site of the Diamond Dust._ Tall buildings dwarfed it, neon lights bathed it, trash fluttered in and out with the light, chill breeze. One side was flanked by cars and Felts taking cover behind them, reloading and firing and shouting amongst themselves. In the heart of the skeleton was the bullet-ridden, black, beat-up flivver belonging to the Midnight Crew.  
     Crowbar lightly touched his right hand, stained red and marked with thick stitches. It was painful. He inhaled and bore it and placed a pistol firmly in it.  
    Sawbuck stopped abruptly on the outskirts, managing to give his warning a second too late. They surveyed the battlefield.  
    "Guess it's still a stalemate," Sawbuck murmured.  
    "Let's tip it in our favor for once," Crowbar sat up in his seat, turning to the side so that he sat up on his leg. "Here's the plan...."  
     
    The car  raced towards the center of the firefight, aiming to bisect the battle perfectly-- MC driver's side, Felt passenger. A third of the way down, Sawbuck stamped on the brake and, with a reckless precision, spun the car about one wheel until it reversed itself to fly backwards. Crowbar and Eggs, armed to the teeth, hung out the window and faced the enemy flivver. Though the rest of the Felt quickly realized who was in the intruding car, late friendly fire still, harmlessly, struck the driver's side.  
    Taken aback, Droog and Boxcars ducked behind their car. A loud crunch and glass shrapnel exploded from behind them, creating an ungodly ringing in their heads and fresh cuts and scrapes. Boxcars tentatively rose up on his knees to find that their flivver was not the actual target of the Felt gunfire, and had been turned into something more akin to a large metal taco, a large I-beam its only topping.  
    "Son of a fuck," Boxcars said in amazement. An aghast gasp escaped Droog as he surveyed the damage done to his suit.  
    Before losing too much more momentum, Sawbuck reversed and accelerated while Crowbar and Eggs quickly reloaded their weapons. Upon reaching the other end of the site, he made a wide u-turn, this time coming in behind the two members of the Midnight Crew.  
    Droog, sitting flat against the ruined car, swiftly retrieved his deck of cards. His radio emerged from 10 and 4. He shouted into it.  
    A flash of light and a booming noise overpowered the roaring engine of the Felt's car. Like a long meteor, a blazing I-beam came crashing down, sundering, morphing the car into a crooked metal butterfly. The car rolled slowly on, eventually coming to a stop some yards away from Droog and Boxcars' position. Droog's lips moved, _we can play your game_ , words that were lost amongst the sounds of settling metal.  
    Sawbuck vanished with a bright flash. The door on Crowbar's side was half-smashed down, trapping him. Eggs was doubled-over and unable to move.  
    Also, the car was slightly on fire.  
    Crowbar struggled to open his door, twisting so that he might try and kick it open, his motions becoming more frantic as Droog approached, calmly shuffling his cards. Boxcars followed closely. He picked up a large metal sheet with a thick cord wrapped about its center and dragged it behind him-- a shield. After blowing on the deck, Droog unleashed a pair of AK-47s, with which he started peppering the Felt car.  
    The Felt on the other side of the site were firing again, and Boxcars threw up his shield. It was a very thick sheet, a fine barrier that would take a fair bit of time to whittle down.  
    The window currently being assaulted by Droog allowed a bullet or two through, embedding themselves into the seat cushions, just barely missing Crowbar. He scooted down as much as he could, though the I-beam barred much of the way, in an effort to stay clear of the failing window. Silently, he cursed himself for not bringing his namesake along as he continued to kick.  
    Raising his voice over the barrage of bullets against the bulwark, Droog said, "Part of me wishes Slick could be here to see this." He paused fire to reload. The two weapons hung around his neck while he flipped through his cards for more clips.  
    "Ya shouldn't. Y'know he's gonna be pissed at ya if-- no, WHEN he finds out 'bout this," Boxcars warned loudly, "Not to mention the goddamn car. Piece of shit or not, he loved this fucking jalopy."  
    "We will buy another car. A better one. Something with a little class."  
    "If ya throw in some blackjack and hookers, then maybe, MAYBE-"  
    Deuce's voice came over Droog's radio. Boxcars reached down and answered. Perched high above the ground, upon a catwalk about a story up, sat the small Dersite. Haphazardly, he juggled his binoculars and radio while detonators sat precariously in his lap.  
    "Clove's running right up to you guys, an' Fin's helping Trace and Doze. I don't think I can get them with Fin there!"  
    Droog mumbled, "Clover, Fin, Trace, Doze..." he thought for a moment, dropped his guns and snatched the radio from Boxcars, demanding, "Where are-"  
    He was interrupted by a volley of gunfire, spraying from the opposite side of the bulwark. Reflexively, Droog dropped everything to hold his newly wounded shoulder, his cards scattering all across the ground, leaving just the kalashnikovs that hung around his neck. Boxcars, no better off, gently pressed his free hand against Droog's back in an effort to get him moving. They ran, Boxcars just somewhat encumbered by the metal sheet that he still protectively held. Droog nearly stopped to play 52 pickup, but thought better of it. He looked to the source of the attack, spotting Matchsticks and Quarters crouching behind a pile of girders, each wielding a tommy gun.  
    The two Felt let Droog and Boxcars go and focused on freeing those trapped in the burning car. Quarters placed his tommy gun on his back, letting it hang by the strap, while Matchsticks tossed his aside; he was out of ammo. After a quick survey of the area, Quarters picked up a thick metal rod, using it like a makeshift crowbar to release Crowbar from the glowing wreck, while Matchsticks did the same for Eggs.  
    Eggs' attempt to stretch his back resulted in a sharp pain running down his spine, and unfortunately, it seemed to be the sort of injury that was difficult to detect or fix on an effigy. Matchsticks gave him a hard look.  
    "You should sit and rest. Quarters and I'll clean up," he said, then faced Crowbar, "You, too. You look like shit."  
    "Gee, thanks," Crowbar said sarcastically, rubbing his aching neck. He affected slight shock once he noticed that he had been bleeding and patched.  
    "Wait," Eggs put up his hands. Ignoring the pain, he stumbled towards the MC flivver and fell down on his hands and knees to look inside it.  
    "Please, let us-" Quarters offered.  
    "-Deuce's got explosives," Eggs interrupted, "Look for him. He's up there someplace."  
    Quarters gave the other two something like a concerned look. Matchsticks shrugged. They turned their gaze skyward, analyzing the rising skeleton for that little dark Dersite hiding amongst the clear night sky. Crowbar turned his attention instead to the battlefield.  
    Droog and Boxcars' escape had slowed, as Droog's injuries forced him to stop periodically. Boxcars, though he bled out, showed no other signs of weakness, valiantly holding up the warping, weakening metal sheet against continuing gunfire. They did not let these pauses go to waste, returning fire with each one.  
    Crowbar could just barely make out the other Felt across the way. Fin had taken the lead, using his precognition to keep Doze and Trace from harm. Clover, heedless of friendly fire or otherwise, simply stood in the middle of it all and emptied his weapon without even taking care to aim. He managed to strike Droog's leg.  
    Eggs ignored the action. He was on the ground, arm outstretched for his timer, temporal properties having kept it pristine despite the metal carnage surrounding it. With a grunt, he just managed to roll it his way. There was no visible sign of the money.  
    He heard Crowbar suddenly cry out. Eggs jolted without having fully extricated himself from the wreck, resulting in a nice sized bump on the back of his head to add to his injuries. He pulled his head out to find the man on the ground, with a large knife lodged in his shoulder. Quarters was attacked soon after, and then Matchsticks.  
    Spades Slick swiftly emerged from the shadows, drawing out a rapier. Before anyone could react, he was on them, slashing and stabbing in a blind rage, shouting incoherentness about his car and Droog.  
    "Fucking son of a shit take my fucking car fuck fuck fuck!"  
    Stitch, being only one man, was moving as fast as he could to help them. As skilled as he was, the rush job was far from perfect, and further from painless. In his boutique of hangmen, he scrabbled for more thread, sweated and cursed as he raced to thread his needle as the effigies tore themselves to pieces.  
    "Where is he? Where is that piece of fucking shit, that fucking faggot cunt I'll murder him, I'll-"  
    Through the physical suffering, marinating in blood, Matchsticks reached for a weapon, any weapon. Any movement at all seemed to provoke Slick. He balked Matchsticks by slicing more holes and fissures into his body. A combination between the crazed man's frantic, aimless swinging and Stitch's strained efforts appeared to be the only thing keeping them from immediate death. Matchsticks hung back when Slick turned his attention to Quarters. He fumbled about his belt for a match that wasn't soaked in blood. It hardly mattered, when Deuce, hovering above them now, dumped a bucket of water onto him.  
    Wet matches, temporal or not, were useless. Slick paused for the first time, surprised to find Deuce being helpful for once. Matchsticks seized the moment and reached for a thick led pipe. He stood on shaky legs and just barely missed smashing Slick in the face with it.  
    "How the fuck are you still standing? Just fucking die already like everyone else does!" Slick snarled, flashing his sharp teeth. Matchsticks backed up, hoping to draw Slick away from Crowbar and Quarters and Eggs.  
    "Boss!" Deuce called down. Both Slick and Matchsticks looked up, though Slick had a better view, and evidently saw something the other did not. Slick hopped backwards. Matchsticks started to follow until an explosion flung a burning beam down, catching his leg. He fell face-down into the dirt with a sharp yelp. It was a smaller beam than most, though still far too heavy for Matchsticks to heave off from this position.  
    Crowbar tried to stand. "Fucking tired of these goddamn fucking girders," he said under his breath. Slick turned and ran at him, brandishing his blade. Crowbar raised his arms defensively, letting them take the damage. Quarters, still on the ground, remembered his gun and started to reach back for it. Slick moved and jammed the sword into Quarters' shoulder, then smoothly moved it up through the strap of his tommy gun and into Crowbar's cheek. Slick kicked the freed gun away and stomped on Quarters' reaching hand. Eggs made for Slick's sword, only to get a facefull of blade, and then a chestfull, and then...  
    Slick stopped momentarily. Rapidly he shook his head, searching the construction site. "Where is Droog?" he hissed at the Felts, caked in blood and sweat and dirt become thick layer, almost disguising them. "I'll give you three fucking seconds before I slit your goddamn throats."  
    Eggs pulled himself together and reached behind his back to activate the egg timer. With a loud, disconcerting ring announcing each entrance, three of his progressively more mangled copies appeared from the future. One snatched Slick by the shoulder and, with as much strength as he could muster, tossed him backwards. Then those copies made copies, and this continued on and on until there were about twenty future-Eggs surrounding and attacking Slick, forming a living meat wall all around him. Eggs1, using all of his remaining stamina, then dragged Quarters and Crowbar to safety.  
    Stitch struggled to prevent them all from losing too much more blood. Eggs, ignorant of or ignoring his own injuries, removed his suit jacket and ripped a few strips of cloth from it. He wrapped them around the other two's wounds in an effort to alleviate the workload.  
    "Thank you," Quarters quietly said. "But, Matchsticks-"  
    Matchsticks had been dragging himself, along with the small burning beam, towards the scattered cards that had belong to Droog. Eggs stood and became light-headed, his vision almost completely blacking, and before could start towards the man, he fell his knees. He tried again, and failed again, landing on his face. He shut his eyes.  
    There were all kinds of sounds. Sounds of slaughter and distant shouting and he felt warm liquid splatter his back. He was too tired to register any of it. He wanted to go to sleep.  
    Slick, drenched in blood-- some of his own, most of it not-- drew back his arm, hellbent on decapitating the last Eggs. A flash of light and Slick's surprised gasp snapped Eggs awake. He had no idea how much time had passed, or if any had at all. But Slick was behind him, and he panicked. He lifted his head and with his eyes he searched frantically for a weapon.  
    Sawbuck, still emanating little motes of temporal light left from his sudden entrance, pinioned Slick's arms, his weight keeping the struggling Dersite from moving much. Slick shouted at Deuce, hoping that he was still hovering over the scene. The little one responded hastily, obtaining a pipe wrench and aiming for Sawbuck's head. It landed, and both of them disappeared.  
    Slick rose shakily and dusted himself off.. He froze at the sound of weapons being cocked. Slowly, his eyes rose from the ground, to the Felts, sitting up to the best of their abilities with Droog's weapons in their hands. Matchsticks, not too far away, even managed to get his hands on a wayward card.  
    Crowbar weakly nodded to the side, "He went that way."  
    Slick narrowed his eyes. Wearily, he replaced his weapon into his deck, and started in Droog's direction. The Felts didn't lower their weapons until Slick was completely out of sight.  
    Then, Quarters and Crowbar collapsed. The rest of the Felt, having apparently lost Droog and Boxcars, came to assess the damage. They brought the cars over and started loading the unconscious in, carefully. Eggs helped roll the I-beam off of Matchsticks' leg, to which he was subtly grateful.  
    A bruised-up Sawbuck re-appeared, this time with Clubs Deuce in his arms, each of them carrying an ice cream cone. Deuce was set down, and, after glancing curiously at the action, ran away with a short "bye!". Sawbuck finished the ice cream in one bite and approached Eggs, whom had just sent Doze and Clover to drive the others home.  
    They supposed he was not quite thinking straight when he asked Clover to drive. They might get lucky and make it home. Or, lucky _to_ make it home.  
    "What--what are you doing?"  
    "I'm driving!"  
    "No! No, you're not driving!"  
    "Hey, he said-"  
    "I don't care what he said! He's not the boss, and you're not driving!"  
    Eggs might have found the ensuing background argument amusing, but he was not paying attention. His focus was on the massacred piles of himself strewn along the ground. One of them rose up, battered and bleeding out, and they locked eyes. He felt sick.  
    Crowbar was far too weak; Eggs' surviving duplicate came home with them. He stayed away, opting to sleep in the laundry room. He knew his fate. He accepted it, teary-eyed and gut sunk with utter fear. He would distance himself so that no attachment would form, or confusion. It would be far too easy for Crowbar to get rid of the wrong man.  
    And as he slowly recovered, that line of thought got Eggs and perhaps his other self wondering:  
  _What happened to the real me?_  
    Eggs had saved Crowbar, and Quarters, and Matchsticks that night with the timer he held now in his hands, turning it end over end, lightly stroking the dial but daring not to turn it.  
 _That's not me...._  
    He sat on the side of his bed, both hands on his timer, resting on his knees. He stared at it through the darkness as if answers or comfort or something could pour out any moment now.  
 _The real me died a long time ago._

 

....

 

  
 _A trail of metal parts and black fluids snaked from the_ Diamond Dust _site across the city, an inorganic trail of blood that, if followed, would reveal the location of the Midnight Crew's personal garage. The broken machine bled still, dripping slowly onto the filthy concrete floor that Spades Slick sat upon, eyes locked on the remnants of his beloved car, predator's teeth grit. In his hands he clutched the one ornament he could salvage from the wreck: one of the scotty dog dolls he had kept on the dashboard.  
    In his mind, and in his mind alone, he had called it the _Scottymobile _.  
    Hearts Boxcars and Clubs Deuce peeked in from the side door, careful not to arouse his attention, then carefully shut the door again. Boxcars shook his head at Diamonds Droog whom was standing impatiently behind them. "Ya prolly oughta book _one more _night at the Oasis."_

 

 _....  
_


	3. ABSTRACTION

Eggs donned a warm coat and left the room, and the house, to perch in his usual spot. Despite his still healing wounds making moving about less than ideal, sleep never came to him easily after that night. Tonight was no exception.  
    As he passed through the main entrance, the cool air cutting into any exposed flesh, a small red glow emerged out of the corner of his eye. A few steps out revealed Snowman, leaning against the wall, indulging in a smoke break. Eggs debated speaking with her for a moment before opening his mouth.  
    "Don't you ever sleep?" he said wearily, joining her side.  
    "Don't you?" she said and lifted her head to blow a smoke ring above her.  
    Eggs shook his head. "Not really."  
    They watched the cascading fountain on the lawn before them, and the lights of the city below the hill. The sparse freckling of stars in the black above them were just barely visible from this vantage. His eyes darted between the scenery and, when she was not looking, Snowman's elegant form.  
    Eggs spoke her name in an attempt to kickstart the conversation again. Her only acknowledgment was a short _hmm?_ He said: "Would the universe really end if you died? It's not like anyone can test it."  
    "You do know what game we're playing, don't you hon?" she calmly replied. "The game ends when ( 8 ) is out of play."  
    "Does it bother you at all? Just a little bit?" She never _appeared_ to be bothered by this aspect of her power. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it, take advantage. Perhaps she was putting on a show.  
    "So hung up on death lately," she shifted her weight and cocked her head his way. "Since when are you Die?" Eggs was not entirely sure how to answer that, his mouth hanging open soundlessly. She continued. "You are a mobster, Eggs. Death is something you'll have to accept. Or," she tapped her cig, "maybe you could leave."  
    "I can't just leave. I got noplace else to go."  
    "None of us do," she said, bitterness just flavoring her tone. "You should get some sleep, Eggs. The sun will be up soon."  
    "I can't."  
    "Try."  
    "I keep thinking about him, and I'm hearing weird noises at night-- I think the house is haunted, and the stupid timer's bugging me, and _I can't_."  
    Snowman touched his shoulder, startling him. "Then do something about it other than moping around out here."  
    Eggs pouted. "I'm not... moping." Her hand dissipated from his shoulder. "Snowy?"  
    Eggs wandered the halls, pacing them as if stuck on a track. He passed the laundry room and peered inside, finding his duplicate sleeping curled in a shuddering ball in the corner. He quielty shut the door and continued on his way. There was that strange ghostly presence following him once again, unnerving him terribly. It was different, somehow, than Itchy or Trace or Fin passing through. Perhaps this haint was the result of his own inability to clean up the remnants of his own time loops.  
    He went back to his room, and slept uneasily.

    "Wake up," Eggs said, nudging his duplicate gently. The room smelled of cleaning chemicals, making his eyes badly wish to water. Eggs-2, bruised and scarred, clothing tattered but spotless, rose up on his elbows and rubbed his sore, bloodshot eyes. He cried out with a hoarse voice, held his hands out in front of him. "Wait... what am I doing there? Or... wait," he rubbed his eyes again. "Wait, it's... you. What're you doing here?"  
    "Well, I kinda live here," Eggs said humorlessly. "I'm gonna save you."  
    "O... okay," Eggs-2 said, taking the hand offered to him and standing up on shaky legs. "But I, uh, don't think running away's gonna help. I tried it, didn't get far." He tipped his head at the west wall, cracked and indented as if struck by a meteor.  
    "We're not doin' that." Eggs said, slowly. He wondered at his duplicate's odd behavior. "We're gonna think this out... maybe."  
    They found an empty guest room occupied only by old, busted clocks (the only room that was not ticking, making it prime thinking space) and sparse furniture. Morning light flooded in from the large open window before them (Eggs-2 squinted, eyes aching); it was early, early enough that they should not be bothered by the rest of the house. After dusting off a small couch, they sat, never really managing to relax. Eggs emptied his pockets of not only his timer, but whatever food he could carry from the kitchen. Eggs-2's reaction would have made one think he had not seen food in years.  
    With a mouthfull of muffin he said: "I just finished off all the spare buttons and dryer lint before you showed up."  
    "You weren't forced to stay in there," Eggs uneasily said. "You coulda gotten some real food."  
    "Well, uh, maybe I can't think straight when I been eating dryer lint and drinking bleach!" Eggs-2 cradled his stomach. "Well... whatever happens to me, we ain't doing that again. Anyways, uh, I tried going back, y'know. I concentrated real hard, while I was in that laundry room. Also, unrelated but, I think I ruined a few shirts."  
    "How?"  
    "Well, remember how I said I was drinkin' bleach? It made me pretty sick-"  
    "No, I mean-"  
    "-Oh! Oh, uh," Eggs-2 said, "well, I did all kinds of stuff. Tried to picture going back, tried to find extra buttons on the timer. Slept a lot, zoned out lots, dreamed it worked. Boy was I disappointed."  
    "You're taking this pretty good," Eggs carefully said.  
    "Well, I got into a lotta chemicals. They had the neatest warning labels on them. Lotta reading practice. I think I was gettin' real good at it. But I guess it don't matter how much reading practice I got in since I'm gonna die." He tittered then teared up and sobbed a bit before laughing even harder.  
    "Uh, wow." Eggs fidgeted awkwardly. He rubbed Eggs-2's back after a moment's hesitation. "Look, it's gonna be okay. We're gonna figure this out. I don't think I'm-- we're as smart as say, Quarts, but remember, he told us once? We're not dumb."  
    "Yeah. I, uh, I realized something in there," Eggs-2 said. He gestured wildly with his hands as he spoke. "I think I'm from a different timeline. I think, maybe the timer pulls us out of other timelines, that're like, connected directly to yours, but in the future. 'Cause all of those mes, they all died, right? But I didn't. And you didn't," he poked Eggs' chest, "so that means the timeline split off. So like, I can't go back to where I came from, without uhh, Die's dolly or something. That's what his dolly does, right? Takes you to another timeline?"  
    "Uh, sure, I think," Eggs shrugged, and under his breath breathed, "whatever you said. Um... the voodoo doll? It has something to do with people dying or somethin' creepy like that, and timeline stuff. I don't really know how it works."  
    "Yeah, you wouldn't, 'cause I don't neither," Eggs-2 said. "We're like, brothers, you and me."  
    "Well, more like, we're... the same person, you and me."  
     "I really hate time travel right now." Eggs-2 inhaled deeply and slid down in his seat. "Die probably understands this stuff better than we do. He's the only one's got a power like that, isn't he? Where he like, goes there, to a totally different timeline? 'Cept maybe Snowy."  
    "Yeah. I guess that means we're hatchin' the same idea."  
    "Go back to the laundry room and forget the whole thing?"  
    "Okay, guess we ain't."  
    Neither one of them really wanted to seek help from Die. They could not be certain that he would even be able to, or even willing to. But they were growing desperate; Crowbar was recovering his strength, the technicolor timecoat was fraying. Eggs-2 claimed he could see time knotting and tangling and undoing itself before his eyes, among other things.

    "I'm busy," Die curtly said, just peeking out his cracked door. He started to shut it when Eggs effortlessly held it open, though his shoulder ached with the sudden movement.  
    "Please," Eggs said as politely as possible, "I'll give you something in return, just for tryin'. I don't know what yet, but we'll figure something out."  
    "There's, there's nothing I want from you," Die said, almost mumbling his words, "Now leave me be."  
    "Quit being a dick!" The three of them looked up, and there was Biscuits, standing right behind the two Eggs. Eggs questioned him _was it you that's been following us?!_ but Biscuits ignored him and pushed his way to Die's door.  
    "If there's anything you can do for my friend... s, you gotta do it! Or I'll kick your ass!"  
    Die's eyes widened. He invited them in.  
    The only light touching the main room bled in from between the shut curtains of the windows and the ajar bedroom door. Though even with such little illumination they could see that this place was in about the same condition Eggs and Biscuits' room was: a horrible mess, although his mess was of a different sort. Littered with books, torn pages as if a library shat in there, and various objects none of the guests could quite identify. On the walls were splashes of color that appeared to be blood, although in this light it was difficult to tell. And in the room's center, in a pathway carved into the clutter, Die stood stiffly, defensively almost, clutching his voodoo doll tightly to his chest. He was almost scary looking in the dark: gaunt with eyes almost sunken into his skull, his skin a pale green that begged for more sunlight.  
    "What do- what do you want?" he quietly said, voice light but also a little rough. Eggs did his best to explain while Eggs-2 and Biscuits picked through some of Die's things, much to his silent chagrin. But, though his eyes were on the other two, he listened, and he did not make a sound until Eggs was finished.  
    "And, well, we're just trying to figure out exactly how this stupid thing works," Eggs said, waving the timer in front of him.  
    Die looked up, never quite making eye contact as he spoke. "Maybe, it is like this, with you," he said, speaking in his perpetual sort of whisper. "Picture a river-- a flowing river," he gestured with his hands, "And mark your position, a rock, perhaps. Go upstream. Take one drop of water and, and move back to your rock, and drop that droplet there. The drop re-assimilates with the river and, it continues on, with the rest.  
    "But, wait, time is not really linear, like that. That's just the way we perceive it. It is more like the pages of a book, than a flowing stream." Die picked one of the books up from a nearby pile. "You read through the book one page at a time, normally. But you can flip ahead, or go back. The pages are all there, at the same time, existing together in the binding of that book.  
    "Maybe you're really just a copy of a page in the book that you skipped ahead to, penciled on a loose piece of paper and brought back. Stuck as an extra as you pass by the real you naturally-"  
    "-and," Eggs-2 gaped, "copies aren't ever perfect. I know 'cause whenever we doodle things we see right in front of us it comes out like crap. Eggsy, Eggsy," he shook the other gently, "we're messed up copies of whoever the real you was. That's why we're different."  
    Biscuits scratched his head and looked on blankly. "I don't get it. And you," he looked at Die and held open one of the books he had been idly flipping through, "should have books with more pictures in them. And not just boring flower pictures like this one."  
    "Flowers?" Eggs said. Die snatched the book away from Biscuits and placed it back on his desk. Eggs continued, "you got lots of neat ideas, but do you got any ideas about how we're supposed to fix... this? Besides letting Crowbar kill him?"  
    Die toyed with his doll. "I... I was just thinking outloud, really. Rambling. Sorry. Have you tried touching each other and-"  
    "-we used to do that all the time-" Eggs-2 started.  
    "-and," Die continued sharply, raising his voice just barely, "maybe, merging together?"  
    "Uhh." Eggs and Eggs-2 exchanged glances. Said Eggs, "do you really think it's that simple? It can't be that simple. That'd be really really stupid."  
    "Um, considering, what you used to be...."  
    "Wait," Eggs-2 said, swaggering slightly. "Wait... if we do it, and it works, what's gonna happen to me? I mean, my mind. Do we share the body, like, like two guys in the same body? Brain roomies? That'd be really weird. Who gets to control it? Maybe one of us will just get the other's memories. Maybe I or you'll just disappear!" he gasped, almost cried. "Maybe we'll turn into a whole new person."  
    "Whatever may happen," Die started, "should it happen at all, it is either this or... death."  
    "Guess we'll find out," Eggs said. "Let's do it, alright?"  
    "Okay," Eggs-2 said nervously. They shut their eyes, and they relaxed, and they let it happen. It was almost natural, second nature like breathing once they realized it was possible. In a flash of light they became one.  
    Eggs opened his eyes. There was no second voice, no feeling of crowding, no fighting for control, only a loud buzzing in his ears. He began to remember those nights spent in the laundry room, getting sick and hallucinating and crying. And his eyes were now sore, and his head a bit light to compound the dull pain that had been already pulsing through his body.  
    "You okay, Eggsy?" Biscuits timidly said.  
    "Y... yeah," Eggs said, his voice hazy. "Yeah, I'm okay. I think everything's gonna be okay." He faced Die, inhaled, pulled himself together. "Thanks. You saved him. Me. I gotta repay you! There's gotta be something that you want. Anything."  
    "I don't need much," Die said.  
    "I didn't say need," Eggs said. "I said want."  
    He turned his doll end over end, perhaps thinking. Biscuits chirped up, "we can get some dresses for your dolly!"  
    "It's not that kind of doll," Die quickly said. "I-I don't... I don't play with it. Like that." He muttered under his breath _why does everyone think that I-_  
    "Why not? Don't girls like playing with dolls?"  
    "...what?"  
    "Uh, Biscuit," Eggs said, "he's not a girl."  
    "How would you know?"  
    "Do you know the difference between girls and boys?"  
    "Do you?"  
    "Uhh, well, uh... look, I'm pretty sure he's not a girl!"  
    "A bed," Die suddenly said. Eggs breathed relief at the change of subject, then arced his eyebrow when Die's request registered in his mind.  
    "A... what? Don't you have a bed?"  
    "Not exactly," Die said, eyes falling onto his bedroom door. (Eggs wondered briefly why he and Biscuits seemed to be the only ones in the house that did not have some sort of miniature apartment set-up: main room, bedroom, bath.) "Just... for one night, even," Die continued. "To sleep in a bed would be nice."  
    "What's in there? Your dresses?" Biscuits asked, moving towards the bedroom door. Die grabbed at his sleeve, ineffectively. Eggs was the one to stop him.  
    "Look," Eggs said, "I don't really sleep all that much. You could take mine whenever I'm not in it," he said, then rubbed his temples. "I'm gonna need it in a few minutes, but after that."  
    "I would like that," Die said. He smiled, for just a moment.

    Crowbar had recovered just enough to be up and about, to sit at the desk in his study instead of laying in bed most of the day. His body was marked and painful still with the aftermath of the skirmish, like his companions, like Eggs still was. But he would not allow any residual damage to keep him from his job for much longer. However, part of that job was temporal maintenance, and he did not look forward to putting his crowbar back to work.  
    Those final hours were much a blur. But glimpses he caught of the terrified face of that duplicate stood out in his recollection every time he looked at his weapon. Then, Eggs came knocking at his study door, claiming something extraordinary. He wanted so badly to believe it, and was beyond relief when he volunteered to prove it through demonstration.  
    When they checked in with Stitch, he found that the languid fraying of the flashing rainbow coat had slowed even further. The average eye would not have noticed, and Eggs and Crowbar took his word for it.  
     Stitch smiled. "Sure took your sweet time figuring this out, kid."  
    "At least he did figure it out," Crowbar said.  
    "Well, in a way," Eggs started, still a bit giddy, "I already figured this out. I just didn't get to it yet."  
    Crowbar and Stitch eyed each other. "Sure," Stitch said. "Whatever you say."

    There must have been a hidden potential in all of the Felt. Perhaps Sawbuck's and Doze's powers were more useful than they appeared. Maybe Clover's "luck" was more than just luck. It was the sort of thing Eggs pondered at night, keeping him outside, often sharing space with Snowman. She warmed up to him and his returning rambunctiousness, in time. He even caught her smiling a time or two.  
    "He wanted to say sorry to you," she said, "about taking your gumball."  
    "Really?"  
    "Candy is just so hard to come by," Snowman said and flashed a few candycanes, spaced between her fingers like extended candy claws. She offered him one and he gratefully took it. "Well, for most. How could he possibly resist?"  
    "I was real tempted to go to the police or somethin'!" Eggs said, sucking on the cane greedily.  
    "Yes, go to the police about your illegal gumball being stolen. While you were robbing a casino," she sneered playfully.  
    "Aw," Eggs sighed. "Yeah, there's that."  
    "Besides, the mayor cut the police budget again. They wouldn't be able to do much."  
    "So um," Eggs started, "you talk to the Midnight Crew a lot?"  
    "I talk to Deuce and Boxcars, and sometimes Droog," she cooly said. "And I go out of my way to piss off Slick. He's so amusing when he's angry."  
    "Do you know what happened?" he said. "Y'know, that night. I know you weren't there, but-"  
    "I know some things, second hand. Droog was growing a little tired of Slick's attitude, apparently. That night was an experiment. And like most things, that experiment made Slick quite upset, poor baby. They're not on speaking terms right now. That's all I know."  
    "But they're friends, aren't they? Slick 'n Droog?"  
    "Friends fight, sometimes. You should know that. You and Biscuits fight all the time. Their fights are just a touch more... violent."  
    Eggs shifted. "Well, speaking of Biscuits... I decided what my next goal is. I'm gonna help him learn how to use his oven. No matter what."  
    Snowman scoffed. Candycane between her pointed teeth, she said, "Good luck with that. You know he has to be the one to figure it out, right? Your toys are linked to you until you die."  
    "Well I guess I'll just have to kill Biscuits," Eggs said, his face completely straight. Snowman silently arced an eyebrow. Then Eggs smiled and giggled, and she could not help but stifle her own little chuckle. Catching these glimpses of her like this filled him with pure delight. "I'll figure somethin' out, Snowy. Somethin'...."

    "What'cha doing?" Biscuits asked, perched on his bed. Eggs had cleared a space and sat before the softly glowing orange oven, looking into it as if engaged in a staring contest.  
    "Maybe you can travel in time, Biscuit."  
    "Uh yeah, duh," he rolled his eyes. "I know I can! I thought you was smart? Umm... were. Is... that right?"  
    Eggs smiled. It amazed him every day how Biscuits seemed to be picking up chunks of information, and retaining them, if only to emulate Eggs in some way. So it seemed the doofus was actually capable of learning! The process just happened to be painfully slow.  
    Unfortunately, at this rate, there was no way Biscuits was going to learn his way around his own artifact. There was no way Eggs could do this alone, not without offing his friend and claiming the oven for himself-- something he could never actually do.  
    The notion did give him an idea, however. That night when Die knocked at his door, Eggs invited him in and asked to talk to him a while.  
    "Is- is everything alright?" he asked, perhaps worried that he would have to sleep at his desk tonight. Eggs quelled his concerns and expressed his idea. "Are... you sure that's a good idea?" Die whispered, intentionally. Biscuits reclined on his bed, within earshot of their conversation. Whether or not he was listening was up in the air.  
    "Why wouldn't it be?" Eggs said. "He's a Felt too. He deserves to have a real time power."  
    "But, but, you do remember what it was like... before you, erm, _woke up_?"  
    "Cans and Quarts said the same thing...."  
    "I'm going to regret this one day," Die breathed. "Okay. I'll help. Only because of this," he indicated the bed. "Because of the, the favor, you've been doing for me."  
     
    It was the next day when they got together, meeting in Die's gloomy room. By Eggs' insistence the curtains were pulled open a little further than normal. They made space, pushing books wherever they could jam them in order to create a clearing wide enough.  
    "I had a thought," Eggs said. "Can you even take other people with you?"  
    Die clutched the thing that never seemed to leave his hands. It may as well had been a growth. "I... never thought to try that," he admitted. "I never had reason." He sat on a pile of books and placed the doll in his lap. "I suppose we'll... um, have to be touching?"  
    Eggs reached for Die's hand, and he took it awkwardly. It seemed small and frail in his grasp, and Eggs' already large size exacerbated it. Die's face showed his slight intimidation.  
     The insertion of Biscuits' pin sent them both off.  
    Eggs had to shut his eyes. He had no desire to see Biscuits harmed, and especially no desire to see him dead. "How do you deal with this?" he asked. "Seeing your companions dead?"  
    Die hesitated before saying, "I have no companions." He took Eggs' hand and placed it on top of the abandoned oven, sticky with something that was probably blood. He gulped and forced his hand to remain there until Die removed the pin to bring them all back home.  
    Other than feeling slightly unsettled, Eggs felt no different for now owning a time oven of his own, no transfer of power, nothing. He wondered if his idea had even worked. Before leaving with his prize, he said, "Aren't I a companion?"  
    "I don't know," was all Die had to say. He briefly lifted a hand in a weak wave goodbye.  
    Eggs hauled it through the hallway, into the kitchen for a quick cleaning and sticky-note marking (OVEN-2), then through one housemates' double-takes and whispers ( _what the fuck is he doing with-?_ ) counting on them not realizing his intentions. The rest of the house, specifically, Crowbar and Stitch, needed not know of his plan just yet.  
    He took it to his room, nonrhythmic clashing and banging balked just barely by the walls. When he opened the door, the noise hit him full force like a punch to the ears. The very next thing Eggs noted was that their beds, not to mention the heaps of toys and clothes and instruments, bogarted the floorspace. To reach his bed was to wade through a sea of crap.  
    "Eggsy!" Biscuits cried out, dropping his drumsticks. Seeing Biscuits' bright eyes and bouncing bulk, alive and well, invigorated Eggs. He practically flew over the debris to join his friend and embrace him. "Eggsy, Eggsy," Biscuits continued into his ear, "I gots an idea: bunk beds."  
    "Bunk beds... that's an awesome idea! Should be plenty of room for the other oven then."  
    "Oh, yeah, I guess."

 _"What is... this?" Die asked, looking upon their creation with a mixture of wonder and apprehension.  
    "It's our bunk bed!" Biscuits chirped, lightly bouncing in his seat on the top bed. It squeaked and shuddered as he continued to jitter it. Both he and Eggs were marked with fresh bruises and scratches, the sources of which Die could easily guess.  
    "Hey, it's safe," Eggs assured him. "We tested it and shaved down all the pointy bits-"  
    There was a startling crash as the bed came down once again.  
    "I, um, I'll just... I'll see you later."_

    "Seriously, what is he doing?" Matchsticks practically demanded. Quarters stood frozen, beaked lips soundlessly parted.  
    He sipped his coffee. "What is so strange about him carting the oven about?" Matchsticks' nonverbal response was that of someone thoroughly unimpressed. Eggs did used to carry it with him, always with Biscuits somehow tucked inside. But he has not done that since, and the noise coming from their room was evidence that he had not reverted back to this. "What causes you to believe that I know anything about this?" Quarters said non-confrontationally. He stirred his cup and leaned against the wall.  
    "You know," Matchsticks insisted. "He talks to you 'bout fucking everything, don't he?"  
    "Not everything," Quarters blinked. "He did mention... this, to me, however. Once, long ago. Again, more recently."  
    "And?"  
    "You will not like what you hear."  
    "That don't happen a lot regardless," Matchsticks grunted. And when Quarters whispered to him Eggs' plan, Matchsticks indeed did not like what he heard. He palmed his forehead. "Shit. Well... it ain't like he'll succeed. Right?"  
    "Part of me hopes not. But... I am curious."  
    "I'm not. We don't need another ...Eggs." He paused and added: "...again."  
    "No, but, perhaps it wont be so bad. It could be something innocuous. That is, assuming, he manages it himself, of course."  
    "You're not gonna help him, are you?" Quarters' inability to meet Matchsticks' eyes alarmed him. "Quarts. Quarters. Don't help him-" Quarters finished his coffee and pulled himself from the wall "-I'm serious. Don't-" He started walking "-Quarters!"  
    "Matchsticks," the other spoke, stopping halfway down the hall. His friend, still contending with a slight limp, caught up with some effort. "You need to relax. We should go drinking with Crowbar tonight."  
    "Don't change the subject."  
    "How often do you plan to say _don't_ today? Shall we go for a record?" Quarters reached into his coat and pulled out a pen and notepad. Matchsticks pushed his hands down.  
    "You're an ass sometimes."  
    "I love you too," Quarters quipped and continued on his way, leaving Matchsticks stranded in the hall. "That offer still stands," Quarters called as he strolled, his tone not entirely sarcastic. Matchsticks told him to fuck off and started the opposite way-  
    -almost, into Clover.  
    "Lover's spat?" tiny Clover teased. Matchsticks continued on past the giggling bantam.  
    "Don't start," he growled. The dainty man (or maybe woman? He was not entirely sure) dashed out in front of him and continued on backwards, almost skipping.  
    "Do you ever have anything good to say, Mr. Negative? Tsk, tsk, how do you even have friends in the first place?"  
    "Whiskey," Matchsticks said, almost jokingly. "Lots of whiskey."

    "So uh, did my oven have a baby?"  
    Eggs ignored him, for the moment. The dials _click click clicked_ as they turned and the oven light flickered on and off with the fiddling of the switch, but that appeared to be the end of any functionality. Not even as a normal oven; there was no way to connect it to a gas line. For a long time, Eggs sat there, staring, playing with the dials of the glowing orange toy, opening and shutting the door, knowing it had to be more.  
    "Who's the daddy?"  
    Eggs lifted just enough to produce his timer. There was hesitation before he turned the dial. What if the merge was a fluke, what if that was a one-time deal?  
    "Ohh, what should we name it? Bacon? I like that name."  
    And Stitch would not appreciate how he was about to deliberately abuse the timeline.  
    "Hey, Eggsy. Where do babies come from?"  
    In a flash, Eggs became two. The second was already up and offering his hand to Biscuits. He leaned forward, and their latest attempt at a top bunk swayed, straining against their duct tape suspension system. But he, and he alone, flopped down with a thud.  
    "You fixed it!" Biscuits gasped, then narrowed his eyes and thoughtfully placed his hand on his chin, still laying belly-up on the floor. Eggs-2 helped him up. "Or... you had a real big baby."  
    Eggs-2's hand clamped firmly around Biscuits', he began tugging him towards the door. Promises of ice cream incited Biscuits to squeak with delight and race out the exit, dragging Eggs-2 behind him like a rag doll. The original breathed relief.  
    The next week proceeded like a snail through molasses. Nice though it was, the relative quiet did nothing to hasten the process of discovery. Pleasant though it was, Quarters' occasional assistance did no better for this.

    _Nothing._  
    The oven did _nothing._  
    But there had to be something; a missing piece screaming for attention right before his eyes that he simply had yet to perceive.  
 _(Or it really did nothing.)_

    Cans dropped in on each of those days after the first, bearing food and drink. The gentle behemoth could just manage through Eggs' door. Entering sideways helped.  
    Eggs scarfed down sandwiches, popping them like pills. "Thanks! I didn't notice how way hungry I was till you brought me this stuff."  
    From just beyond the door said Quarters, playfully, "there must be some of your original brain still clinging there, if you can stare at an inanimate object for so long and forget to eat."  
    Eggs shrugged and invited Quarters in. Cans offered a polite wave and the sandwich that Eggs had missed. Then, Cans asked what he always asked when he visited: "Found anything yet?"  
    "We're gettin' nowhere," Eggs said, shaking his head. Cans expressed relief far less subtly than he would have liked. Eggs ignored it. "How'd the robbery go, Quarts? You guys recovered enough?"  
    He answered with a gloomy voice. "Well enough, although Sticks is still a trifle upset with me, and Crowbar-" Eggs' face fell the moment he heard Crowbar's name.  
    "He knows?"  
    "Nothing specific." And Eggs relaxed again.  
    "Perhaps it's none of my business," Cans shyly interjected, "but maybe you shouldn't keep this from Crowbar. Or Stitch. They're likely to find out eventually anyway."  
    "How many have you told?" Quarters asked Eggs.  
    "Um," Eggs started, "You guys, I trust you guys. Die knows. He kinda had to get involved for this to work. Snowy, because... well, sometimes words just come out when I talk to her! And... well, Biscuits, I haven't hidden anything from him. But I'm pretty sure he doesn't get it yet."  
    "And Matchsticks," Quarters added without pride.  
    "Yeah."  
    "Eggs," Quarters said uneasily, "I must say, I do feel guilty for keeping this from Crowbar. I have not lied to him, and I do not plan on it in the future. Fortunately for you, he has yet to ask. Still, it eats at me. And I am sure Matchsticks has not said anything either... if only for me."  
    "He must care about you a lot, then," Cans said gingerly.  
    "I would not associate with him as such otherwise, though he may show it rarely," Quarters said, looking past Eggs and Cans.  
    "Quarts, I'll tell him," Eggs said. He would not forgive himself for risking the intimate closeness between those three. "Whenever I get a chance."  
    Said Cans, "I'm still surprised you've kept it quiet this long."  
    "Nobody's noticed that I haven't been out and about," Eggs said with a sneaky smile, "since I've been using a duplicate to distract Biscuits. H-hey, don't look at me like that. I absorb him at the end of the day. I don't think it's hurting anything too much."  
     Quarters shifted. "A thought occurred to me: Eggs, are you certain you were the first to touch this oven after alternate-Biscuits' death?"  
    Eggs frowned. "I... guess that'd be on Die."  
    "Perhaps he connected with the oven."  
    "He made sure it was me. And I believe him."  
    "It may have been an accident."  
    "I trust him," Eggs insisted. "Like Crowbar trusts you and Sticks."  
    "That is _a lot_ of trust towards one you barely know."  
    "I know him well 'nough," Eggs said guardedly.  
    "I envy your naïveté," Quarters said sincerely. Eggs huffed.  
     "Look, I'll ask, but it's just to make you happy, Quarts."  
    Quarters nodded. Cans remained silent, having deemed this speculation on Die none of his business. Conversation shifted elsewhere as Eggs relaxed with the two of them _. ("You do know that, well... you can just buy a bunk bed, right?")_ All the while, he waited for the hour in which Die told him he usually returned after traversing the timelines. Then, he would seek him out.  
    Any sort of apprehension Die had had about company before, at least, Eggs' company, had dissipated. He let him in immediately after locking his bedroom door. He allowed Eggs to split the curtains to let in a little light, and create a makeshift throne of books to sit upon, directly across from Die and his desk caked with journals. Die, his coat sprinkled with splotches of red here and there, sat watching him with legs crossed, doll perched in his lap, fingering its plush arms. Eggs babbled as he built his seat, and Die listened without complaint, interjecting an occasional comment. Eggs found that his room was far less unsettling when bathed in light, although, not to mention Die's coat, questionable objects and stains still made him slightly uneasy. Once settled, he gently asked his question.  
    "I did not touch it," Die said, his tone confident. "I assure you."  
    "I thought so," Eggs said, relief painting his face.  
    "Y-you support me so quickly," Die murmured, confidence hemorrhaging instantly.  
    "I said I trusted you that one night," Eggs said somberly. "I really meant it. How many times do I gotta say it?"  
    "-the oven," Die said suddenly. "Was there, um, anything else you needed to know?"  
    "I was thinkin'," Eggs bit his lip, "maybe there was somethin' wrong with it?"  
    "Y-you want another one?"  
    "You can do that?"  
    Die removed a pin from his top hat. He rolled the little, dark green ball between his thumb and forefinger as he began to speak. "Well, there are infinite numbers of timelines born of critical events happening or failing to happen, splintering off from one main line." He went off on a brief tangent, saying: "I wonder sometimes if we even exist, in that main line, or exist in any way as we are. We must be a deviation of a deviation of a deviation, and so on and so on.  
    "Among other things, a person's death or near-death or complete aversion will create these splinters, sometimes many. Biscuits, you, myself, we have all died infinite numbers of times. And we can travel to those lines with," he squeezed the torso of his voodoo doll, "this."  
    Die traced a finger along the doll's side, almost intimately. "I cannot claim to know its exact workings, but this is what I've ascertained: this doll represents its origin line. The variables: the pin-- the individual that is to die, the absolutely exact depth at which the pin is inserted, and the absolutely exact place on the doll in which it is inserted. And, perhaps even more variables, all determining which variation of the same person's death we are to visit.  
    "So, yes, Eggs. I can do that.  
    "B... but," he started, stuttering and stumbling over his words once again now that his lecture had concluded, "instead of searching for another oven, why not, um...."  
    Eggs leaned in. "Why not... ?"  
    "Well. Your origin, Eggs," Die said, "your origin, specifically. You arose as a happy mistake, a pleasantly botched copy. P-perhaps, in another timeline, well... you did duplicate Biscuits often as well...."  
    It took a moment for Die's implication to sink in, and when it did, Eggs jolted with excitement. The books he sat on shifted and slipped and he swiftly fell on his ass.  
    "Oh god," he said, utterly unfazed by the fall. "Somewhere out there, this happened to Biscuits instead of me?"  
    "Possibly," Die concluded. "Your, your glitch, this was one in a million. But upon and before and during your creation or lack thereof will come many more pathways, possibilities."  
    "So he's probably out there, and it wouldn't be impossible to find some timeline with him in it," Eggs said, enthused as ever. "One where he knows what his own oven does!"  
    "But... oh. My power... this option may be quite tedious," Die said with a straightened face. Eggs did forget how Die's doll actually worked, momentarily, that they could not pick and chose just any timeline, especially not if they wanted their target alive. His new expression reflected this. The right pin, the right depth, the right spot.  
    "There's just 15 of us. And I guess your MC pins, so 19," Eggs said. "I don't think that's even enough to find-"  
    Die opened up several drawers in his desk. A plethora of pins stopped Eggs in his tracks. "That is not the issue."  
    "Why do you need all those-" Eggs started, "-nevermind, later. The issue we do got is... wait." Sudden inspiration propped him up from the puddle of books. "Wait, I got an idea!" He hopped from the floor and made for the exit. Die looked on curiously. "I'll be back later. We're gonna find him, Die. We just need a little luck."  
     
    Unfortunately, Clover seemed to have a way of completely disappearing should anyone actually want him around. Eggs snooped about the entire house, hovering particularly near the vault where Clover had some form of dominion, possibly self-proclaimed, or his door. He had yet to find a single sign of the tiny Felt, unless that strange, ghostly presence was his doing. Eggs was fairly certain it tried to trip him.  
    "You lookin' for somethin'?" said Trace, startling Eggs while he was bent under a decorative desk. Rubbing the new sore spot on his head, he extracted himself from the floor and stood uneasily. Standing side-by-side before him were Trace and Fin.  
    "I'm lookin' for Clover," Eggs said. "Oh, Trace! You can help, can't you?"  
    Fin said, his voice dull, "Were a little busy here."  
    "No we ain't," Trace said, nudging Fin's side.  
    Fin whispered loudly: "The surveillance thing for Crowbar... fine, whatever, nevermind. He's a 'client', isn't he?"  
    Eggs cocked his head. "Client?"  
    Trace rifled through his pockets, retrieving a bent-up, coffee-stained business card and presenting it to Eggs. "Fin and me-- we're detectives. We got an office downtown."  
    "If by office you mean shitty apartment, yeah, we got an office," Fin muttered, arms crossed.  
    Eggs narrowed his eyes at the card. "Your real name is... Dick Fitzwell?"  
    "Well," Trace snickered, "that's more of a hint to, say, any nervous broads or hysterical dames that maybe want some... additional services, if you know what I mean. Anyways, you call that number there in about 20 minutes. That's about how long it's gonna take us to drive down there."  
    Fin rolled his eyes. "Trace...."  
    "Fine," Trace said. "We'll go to the second office."  
    "Second offi... " Fin's mouth twitched. "We're going to our room," he bluntly finished. "Here's a novel idea: no."  
    "What a damn wet blanket," Trace said. He addressed Eggs. "We'll take the job. $50 a minute. And you refer to me as the name on the card when ladies get in earshot."  
    "And a goat," Fin added curtly.  
    "Oh yeah! Get us a goat or a boat or somethin' big like that."  
    Eggs frowned and emptied his pockets, pulling the lining out. "I dunno about a uhh... boat, but I got a paperclip and a baggie of pop rocks."  
    Trace snatched up the bag and pocketed it. "That's fine too! For now. Fin, you can have the paperclip."  
    Fin exposed his dangerous teeth in a half-snarl of annoyance. He took the paperclip. "You're lucky I'll eat anything," he said and popped the thing into his mouth. Eggs could not help but grimace, watching him, hearing him chew on it like it was bubblegum. He waited with bated breath for Fin to blow a metallic bubble. Instead, he swallowed it.  
    Trace started immediately. Briskly he walked back down the hall with the other two in tow, Eggs trailing him like an eager duckling after its mother, Fin more like a wooden duck tugged along by a string. As Trace moved he swayed about, his eyes constantly catching the memories of others. Once reaching Clover's door he paused and said: "ain't no lucky trails here. Prolly gone cold."  
    "How long's it take for the trails to go cold?" Eggs asked.  
    "Few hours or so," Fin answered. "Depending." Fin sniffled. "He wont be back here for a while 'cause I don't sense him either." He then inclined his head at Eggs. "My insight costs extra, by the way."Trace moved on until catching, just barely, the fading trail of their mark near the garage. It was too far gone to see, he briefly explained, but his attuned sense of smell picked up the slack just well enough. He threw open the door, nearly as excited as Eggs was, and zeroed in like a laser-guided missile on a blank parking spot.  
    "Clover drove somewhere? Clover?" Eggs said, baffled. "I know he's lucky but that's kinda pushin' it."  
    "I seen the setup in his car. Involves a mop and a stack 'a books."  
    Fin drove them. He was an excellent, but perhaps overly cautious driver. (Trace was a rather terrible one, constantly distracted by past trails) Eggs, laying across the back seat as usual, had never really learned and decided to put it on his mental to-do list.  
    The van rolled on down the hill and through the decaying slums filled out with homeless and hookers. "She's gonna die," Fin would mumble, utterly blase´. "Hooker with a penis," he yawned. "That whore's going to get raped."  
    "Is that rape or theft? Turn right here."  
    Directions were interspersed with petty squabble and idle conversation.  
    "Jesus, Fin, you drive like an old broad."  
    "I drive like I don't wanna end up on the news. Like Sawbuck."  
    "Hey, whatever he's doin', it's workin'. He ain't never been in no accidents. 'Caused plenty, but-"  
    "-that crazy driving's gonna kill him one day."  
    Eggs piped up, "when you say stuff like that, well it's kinda creepy, Fin."  
    "Says the guy that hangs out with Die?" said Fin.  
    "You eat paperclips and goats and that weird thing with the little growing mushrooms that was in the fridge, and Die creeps you out?"  
    "Hey," Trace objected, "that 'weird thing' was potatoes au gratin... once."  
    "He's not that bad," Eggs protested gently. "He's pretty nice, actually! When he warms up to you."  
    Trace said, "He looks like a skeleton an' walks 'round with that doll, if he even leaves that room. And it's a voodoo doll on top of that. That shit's way creepier than our eatin' habits."  
    "He sorta needs it for his job," Eggs said quietly. "He writes our deaths all down to help protect us guys that can't see the future, y'know...."  
    "I don't see you clutchin' that egg timer all the time like it was your baby or nothin'."  
    "I don't like using mine," Eggs answered boldly. "'Least, didn't used to." And he fell quiet, remembering the day that Die helped him obtain his own time oven. When he asked if he was bothered, Die never managed an actual answer. And he recalled the drawers of pins, infinite amounts of home-made pins that he could or should never hope to put to use. And the bedroom door... what was in there, exactly, that he refused to show a soul? Eggs found himself shuddering, involuntarily, much to the detriment of his argument.  
    "That reminds me," Trace started. "What's goin' on between you two anyways?" Fin jabbed Trace's shoulder. Trace admonished him, "hey, hands on the wheel."  
    "Uhh, what'cha mean?" Eggs said, genuinely confused.  
    "He's been going to your room every night for the past few weeks, and either he leaves or you do, like you been tag-teamin' that room."  
    "I was letting him sleep in my bed when I wasn't. So?"  
    "Which ain't no normal thing on its own. Then the last few nights," Trace deliberated, "neither of you left."  
    "Uhh. Well," Eggs balked. He blushed slightly, although Trace could not see. Fin apparently wanted no part of this conversation. "We uh, we... slept together."  
    "How?" Trace exclaimed. "You're... big, and Die ain't no top." He added quickly: "I know that 'cause of my power."  
    Eggs screwed up his face. "Well, no, Biscuits is on top."  
    Trace let out a sharp noise of amused disbelief. "What?"  
    "But s'okay," Eggs continued, his voice quickened. "I thought that maybe the bottom bunk'd have enough space for us both, 'cause, well, I'm big but he's small. And we tried it and it did, so we shared."  
    "Wait," Trace said, organizing his thoughts. "You literally slept together. Literally."  
    "What'd you think  we was doin'?" Eggs exclaimed, more confused than ever.  
    Trace said it bluntly: "Fucking?"  
    Eggs was silent for a long moment. "Is... that what people mean when they say 'sleeping together'? I thought it was just... sleeping together."  
    "...you're a virgin, ain't you?"  
    "Um, well-"

    _"Thank you," Die said into Eggs' chest, secured chastely in his arms, the doll sandwiched between their bodies. He was still a bit nervous about the bed duct taped to the ceiling above him, and clung quite tightly. Eggs could feel just how light and thin he was. It was a wonder he did not blow away in the breeze. In the morning, he might try and get him to eat a decent breakfast.  
    "It's nothin'," Eggs sleepily mumbled.  
    "A-and... you wont mention the, um, piercings or tattoo to anyone, right?"  
    "Piercings? I just saw the one on your... chest."  
    "Um. Um...."  
    "Can I see them tomorrow? In the light? The tattoo on your lower back, too?"  
    "I, um, don't really like people seeing my body in, in the... light."  
    "Oh. Okay. I wont look or tell anyone about whatever," Eggs yawned. He was drifting already into sleep, until Die slipped his arms onto Eggs' shoulders and pulled his way up the bed. He kissed him. Eggs jolted and accidentally sent Die flailing to the floor, landing neatly on their shed shirts and coats.  
    "S-sorry!"" Die whispered loudly against Eggs' own apology. ""I, um, oh god, sorry. I thought-- you asked me to stay with you so-- I thought-"" He scrambled up from the floor and groped for his voodoo doll.  
    "Wait!"" Eggs said, propping himself up on his elbows. "You just surprised me is all. Don't go." Tentatively, Die put the doll and pin down. They sat up in bed together. Die cradled his knees to his chest, unable to look up at Eggs hunched over next to him. The sag of the bed drew him close.  
     "We're... both guys, right?"  
    "Yes," Die said. "We are."  
    "I thought, y'know,"" Eggs fidgeted, "guys were supposed to go with...."  
    "Some men are weird like that. And women," he said good-naturedly. "S-sorry, again. You did say that you... fooled around with your power, on occasion, didn't you?"  
    "That was me on me,"" Eggs quietly justified. "And Biscuits and me might have, um, done a few things but... nothing really, y'know...."  
    "T-the way I look at it, it stops being, um, masturbation once another physical body gets involved, another iteration of yourself or not. Then it's just... incestuous."  
    "Have you done it before, using your timeline-hopping power?" Eggs asked, and Die shifted awkwardly, silently. Eggs immediately regretted asking and changed the subject. "Um, it wasn't... bad, y'know. I didn't hate it. When you kissed me. I never been kissed like that before," he touched his lips, "on the... mouth."  
    "Oh god, I'm sorry," Die said. His eyes finally set themselves on Eggs, although he could not make full eye-contact. "That was your first? I'm so sorry."  
    "No, don't be!"" Eggs said. "I just always hoped that first kiss would be from Snowy. I mean, since I first saw her."  
    "Maybe, maybe, she'll be your first straight kiss,"" Die remarked.  
    "Straight... means, girl and guy, right?"  
    "Yes."  
    "So, this was... ?"  
    He fumbled the words. "Y-you've probably heard the word tossed around. That would be gay. Or queer, or homosexual, or f-faggot-"  
    "-oh! Oh..." Eggs said, fascinated. "Yeah. So, you're... ?"  
    "A person's sex makes no difference to me," Die said. "A-although to be honest, I, um, I've had far more... encounters... with men."  
    Eggs mulled this over. It was weird, but of all the strange things he had pondered about Die, this may have been the least bothersome. And, he found himself thinking, then saying, "y'know what, that's a good way to live. You love somebody for who they are and nothin' else."  
    Die buried his head in his knees. He gulped. ""I have yet to be with someone that I_ loved _, Eggs. I doubt I ever will be."  
    Eggs hovered a hand over Die's hunched shoulder, touched it lightly. He let him.  
    "Die," Eggs said after a long few minutes, "will you, um, give me _the talk _? I never got it when I was growin' up and-"  
    "-_the talk _?" Die lifted his head, "This entire conversation has been nothing but awkward and you want me to, to...."  
    Eggs' expression was wide with realization. "I guess it is awkward. Sorry! It's just, this stuff is so interesting. No one ever talks to me 'bout sex unless they're making jokes that I don't get. And everyone laughs at me or avoids the subject when I ask something like, _hey, what's the difference between a boy and a girl? _It's not just boobs," he felt his chest, "I got those goin' on too. Not big like Snowy's but they're there."  
    Die placed a hand to his mouth to cover the smile that wanted to form. He said: "well... I've never... um, y'know, I never got the talk, either. I... um, learned from... experience."  
    "I learn best that way too, I think," Eggs said. "From doing."  
    "Are you... do you... um?"  
    "Oh, is it getting awkward again?" Eggs questioned, frowning. ""I'm just sayin', if you wanna help me out with this, I'd be up for it. Learning the same way you did. Not that I wanna go on a date or nothin', but... well, I'm just... curious."  
    Die bit his lip. "I could... if you'd like. But not quite the same way, no. The first time, I was young, too young, and it was... forced. By someone I should have been able to trust."  
    "Who?"  
    "I'd rather not go into it. I-I can't remember all the details anyway."  
    Eggs accepted that. They really did not know each other that well. As well, since joining the Felt, some of his own memories had been seemingly lost or fuzzed. He could not even recall his old name. Die's statement caused him to wonder for the first time if it was not just him.  
    "Well, I'm young but I'm not that young. And I trust you. And Biscuits is a really heavy sleeper. I swear sometimes it's like he dies and just magically comes back to life in the morning."  
    "Do... do you really trust me?"  
    "Yeah. I trust you. Everybody says you're a creep but I don't think they tried to get to know you at all. I know we haven't really talked that much, but so far, I like you. You're different, but nice, and honest. I wanna be friends. And, well, I hope you do, too."  
    Eggs held out his hand. Instead of taking it, Die hoisted himself up to kiss him again, and this time Eggs relaxed and kissed back. Die eventually broke away after some experimental tonguing, to crawl further down the bed and settle his head near Eggs' lap. "I'll start teaching you. B-but you _cannot _mention this to anyone."  
    "Why's that?" Eggs said. His face was hot, he was excited but nervous. Not for attraction to Die but for the experience itself.  
    "This s-sort of thing, between two men is... a little looked down upon."  
    Eggs leaned forward and kissed the top of Die's head. "I'll be quiet."_  
     
    "-Trace," Fin suddenly said, "you are way too fucking nosey sometimes."  
    Fin had driven far into the outskirts of the slums, where poor citizens survived in spite of the criminal population that concentrated further into its center. The apartments, streets, sidewalks, everything was broken down or breaking down. Yawning holes in the walls were bandaged with planks tattooed with mold. The fingers of desert weeds climbed to the sky. Small and large pieces of junk-- tires, parts, materials-- peppered the short apartment yards like lawn ornaments. Young Prospitans and very few young Dersites, filthy and dressed in rags, that had been playing in the fractured street dispersed loudly upon the arrival of Felt van. One of the children appeared to be gray; perhaps a trick of the light?  
    Clover's bug was 'parked' in the road positioned as if it had nearly crashed. His trail led into a derelict church at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was small, with two large, cracked stained glass windows in its front, decorated with-  
    "-frogs," Eggs noted. "What's with the frogs?"  
    "It's a Prospit thing," Trace shrugged. "Looks like a Prospitan neighborhood Clove's run into. For some reason."  
    Eggs was already at the church doors, pushing them open. "Let's find out why."  
    The building looked not much better inside than out. The floorboards creaked and many peeled upwards at the edges. There was a rusted chandelier that swayed noisily whenever the wind slipped in through one of the cracks in the windows. Above the altar hung frog tapestries. The uncomfortable-looking wooden pews around them were partially filled out with quiet Prospitans, staring down their guests with mixed looks of reverence and fear. Fin and Eggs slowly walked down the aisle, led by Trace.  
    The Sagacious Preacher, in an old white robe that may at one point have been a tablecloth or bedsheet, large pair of glasses, book spread out on the podium before him, never stopped giving his monotone sermon. Even as the doors flung open, as the churchgoers silently gawked at their visitors. But the corner of his mouth had twitched, and his hand looked as if it was about to reach for something. It may have drawn the attention of the three Felt, if there were not something far more interesting to look at near his feet: Clover, in a modest sunday dress, picking up a collection tin then standing frozen before his fellow gangsters.  
    They spoke privately in the corner: "What's this about?" Eggs asked.  
    "Hey, if they wanna donate to me, I ain't gonna stop 'em," Clover said.  
    "I meant the dress."  
    "They know you're a Felt, don't they?" Fin said, giving Clover a strange look. "Not a frog?"  
     Clover shrugged. "They both start with 'f'. 'Sides, it's _me_ , whatcha so worried for? Ain't no reporter's snapped any photos of me yet," he tittered. "No one not in or 'round our circle knows what 'Clover' really looks like. Definitely not these outer-slum folks."  
    "I dunno," Eggs said, eyes shifting towards the reverend, "that guy's giving me a bad feelin'."  
    "Probably a Hatchet or somethin'. Some of 'em are pretty religious," Trace remarked. "Y'know, I'd be worried if it weren't," he pointed at Clover, " _you_."  
    Fin glanced behind his shoulder briefly. "They really don't know who you are? Really," he said, somewhere between deadpan and confusion. "How many other folks round these parts are green?"  
    "Maybe they don't care," Clover grinned. "They just love me for me. I mean, look at me. How could you not?"  
    Fin mumbled, "you are a... tasty looking thing."  
    "Seriously, that preach' is weirding me out," Eggs said. "Can we go?"  
    After stuffing his pockets with coinage, Clover headed out the door, the three Felt following closely. As he hopped down the stairs he lifted off his dress, revealing regular shirt and... skirt, underneath.  
    "So, what'cha want from me?" Clover said as he balled up the dress. He sung, _"do you want my blood, do you want my tears, what do you want?"_  
    Eggs got down to the point: "I want your luck."  
    Clover skipped down the steps a ways before twirling, facing Eggs with a mischievous look in his bright eyes. Trace and Fin backed away.  
    "You on you're own from here on," Trace said. He and Fin started towards their car. "I'll send ya my bill! C'mon, Fin," he said, hauling his partner by the arm. Fin, locked onto Clover, carefully licked his lip and jerked his arm away.  
    "You don't gotta drag me."  
    "Yeah I gotta. I know that look-"  
    "If we get the stuff, I can catch him. It'd be so easy."  
    "Fin, we been through this-"  
    "-he's fucking bite-sized, look at him-"  
    "-we get you some real, fresh food, alright? Someone ain't no person we know? Nice day, maybe more swimmers in the lake."  
    "-not after all those reports."  
    "Well maybe if you finished your damn food!"  
    Fin and Trace's parting conversation was lost to Eggs as he listened to Clover blithely scat. His voice was oddly soothing, dream-like. Distant.  
    "I," he slowly said, his voice sounding strange in his head, "don't gotta solve some kind of space-time riddle for your help, do I?"  
    "Maybe," Clover sing-sung. His next few words were spoken, jarring Eggs temporarily. "We can start on easy mode, no spacey stuff." Then he sung: _"you walk through a field to find somethin' to eat. It got no bones, got no meat. You plan to bake it into a souffle but before you can it walks away!"_  
    Eggs, still somewhat heady, thought hard a moment. He answered by producing a candycane from his pocket and waving it in front of Clover.

    "How do you... expect this to work?" Die asked.  
    "Uh, I'm not really that sure." Eggs scratched his head. Clover sat perched on Eggs' shoulder, sucking at that piece of candy happily. Although, he was less than enthused about his current location.  
    "What'cha wantin' to do?" Clover said between sucks, his usual bonhomie dampened a bit. Die fidgeted awkwardly. "Hang me 'round your neck?"  
    "Would that work?" said Eggs. Clover shrugged.  
    They tried it. They tried touching, they tried Clover wishing luck upon them (he did so rather half-heartedly the first time, and was bribed with more candy into trying harder). Results were not looking good, and the time it was taking to find and identify the Biscuits they wanted made this an act of tedium.  
    "Hm," Eggs shut his eyes. "Maybe you two should kiss." Die's head shot up. Clover froze. "Y'know, a kiss for good luck. Die, you gotta kiss Clover... or... maybe the other way 'round?"  
    "Are you listening to yourself?" Clover frowned.  
    "C'mon, it's not a sex or romance thing," Eggs begged, "It's a luck thing!"  
    "But him kissing me wouldn't be very lucky for _me_ ," Clover groaned. Die shrunk in his seat.  
    Eggs thought for a moment, "Wait. Are you a girl or a boy, Clover?"  
    "I don't wanna kiss him, Eggs," Clover huffed. "No amount of candy's gonna make me kiss him. Would _you_ kiss him?"  
    "Um... l-look, just a quick one?" Eggs quickly said. "You know I'm not askin' you to do this for nothing."  
    Die managed to choke out a few words. "A-a, quick peck on the, the cheek, Clover."  
    And Clover leaned in. "Why do you wanna help him out with this so bad? Hmmm, sounds like a fun mystery to unravel! Is he sleeping with you? You can do way better than that, _Eggs_."  
    "Hey," Eggs protested, "he's my friend and if you want to sit here and insult him then maybe you don't need anymore free candy."  
    "I can get my own candy," Clover said in a subdued voice. "Look, I didn't mean anything by that, I was just makin' a joke. Aw, Die, come on, chin up. I'll even make it up to you. Eggs, I'll kiss him. But I wont like it. And," he added sternly, looking Eggs in the eye, "you'll owe me. And him, you'll owe him too. And you wont complain about or question our requests. You'll just do 'em."  
    "Alright, Clover. Sounds good."  
    "You gotta promise!"  
    "I promise!"  
    In retrospect, he thought, perhaps he agreed to Clover's conditions a little too quickly.  
    Clover hopped down from Eggs' shoulder and clambered up into Die's lap. He leaned away, hands, one cupping his doll still, flattened against the desk behind him as Clover balanced on his thighs, hands clamped on his gangly shoulders. And they stared at each other.  
    Stared.  
    Eggs' impatience got the better of him, causing him to stand and "gently" shove their faces together. It was not quick, nor was it on the cheek, but it was awkward asEggs held them there unable to decide when to let them go. When he finally did, Clover shoved off and slid down Die's lap with almost Itchy-like speed.  
    "Sorry," Eggs murmured.  
    "Let's just... let's go," Die finally said, picking out a random pin from the drawer.  
     
    The trio emerged in a darkened alleyway, frightening away a homeless Dersite. In his state of shock he managed to barrel over a flaming trash can, igniting the detritus and the body on the concrete ground.  
    "Shit!"  
    "Outta here, outta here!" Clover called out as he ran the opposite way. Eggs and Die hurried after him.  
    "Whose pin was that?" said Eggs after they had reached a safe distance. Die shrugged.  
    "Sometimes make them blind. See who they link to after."  
    "But you only need our pins," said Eggs, "and the Midnight Crew, don't you?" Die nodded. Clover shot him a funny look and muttered something under his breath.  
    The alternate manor was not too far a distance from their arrival point. They walked in relative silence. Eggs' large size deterred muggers that stood from afar and eyed them, but some of the prostitutes were not quite so shy and had to be threatened away.  
    "No time!"  
    When they finally arrived home, the first place Eggs checked was their room. It was the first place he always had checked. When he called for his friend, there was no answer.  
    "Either he's hiding someplace, or," Eggs said, "he's doing the exact same thing I'm doing."  
    "Don't hear noone else in the house," Clover said. "Just the _tick tick tickin_ '."  
    They did find people in the house, but not the ones they had been searching for.

    "What're you doing back here?" Stitch asked, back turned, eyes on a piece of clothing he was in the process of creating. Cans, still in reading glasses, his book under his arm, had let them in.  
    "We have some very interesting visitors," Cans said, "from another timeline."  
    "Everybody out on a job or somethin'?" Eggs said, eyes running along the hangmen suspended neatly in front of Stitch. He looked up and over his shoulder with mild surprise at Eggs before returning to his work with a nod.  
    "They finished buildin' the _Hearts Flush_ not too long ago. Nice place. The gang's gone to rip them off."  
    "Is Biscuits with them?"  
    Clover piped up, "And is he stupid or what?"  
    Eggs did not quite care for Clover's phrasing, but said nothing of it.  
    Stitch looked up and over. "It happened to you, didn't it? About a year back?"  
    That was, evidently, confirmation enough for Eggs. He squeeled with delight and dashed out of the room, carelessly shoving past Cans and Die and Clover. Taken aback, Clover reeled and chased after him. Die turned and raised his hand in a half-wave, managing to sputter out a "Th-thank you" before turning on his heels and following.  
    Stitch shook his head and returned to work. "Weird bunch of kids."  
    Cans started out the door, pulling it behind him. "But kind of cute," were his parting words. Stitch snorted.  
    Eggs had a vague idea of where _Hearts Flush_ was, at least, the casino of their timeline, built long ago. But, how to get there, he had not planned out. Eggs stood at the manor entrance and stared out at the winding road. Clover piped up, startling him.  
    "We could hotwire one of the cars in there," he suggested. Die, huffing, came to a stop just behind them, although if he were not breathing so hard they would not know it.  
    "You know how?"  
    Clover threw out his hands, and with a smug grin said, "Does it matter if I know how? C'mon, let's go borrow a car."  
    As they entered the garage, Eggs said, "wait, if we're just borrowing anyway, shouldn't we ask?"  
    "Some criminal you are!"  
    "Hey, it's different when it's one of your own," Eggs insisted. "Anyway, I got standards."  
    "Don't get your panties in a bunch!" Clover teased, "I was joking, y'know? I got a code of honor myself," he proudly said. Eggs jiggled the handle of one of the larger vehicles. The only one he would comfortably fit in.  
    "It's locked anyway," Eggs said. "That's not very lucky, Clover."  
    "Something lucky's gotta come outta this," Clover said with a pinch of offense. "That's just the way it works."  
    "Maybe," Eggs sighed. "Hey... Clover. Where'd Die run off to?"  
    "Oh. Dunno," Clover shrugged. "Maybe he's ditched us here!"  
    Eggs vehemently shook his head. "No, he wouldn't!"  
    "What makes you so sure?"  
   A screech screamed from around the corner, and a stranger's truck skidded to a halt before the garage entrance. Eggs and Clover ran up to it, spying Die in the driver's seat. It and the passenger seat were smeared with blood, which he had attempted to cover with his coat.  
    "I, um, found this," he said. The voodoo doll sat neatly in his lap, where his hands squeezed its sides. "I still felt the luck. Thought I-I'd fiddle with the needle a bit."  
    Eggs came around the other side and squeezed in through the door. Clover climbed into his lap. "Wow. There's almost enough room for my head! This must count as lucky," he said to Clover.  
    "Sure," he said. He opened up the dash and rifled through it while Die took them towards the _Hearts Flush_. Candy and cigars were stashed in the glove compartment.  
    Fucking sweet.  
    "Y'know," Eggs said, puffing on one of the cigars, stuffing his pockets with sweets, "We probably don't want to ruin their plans or nothin'. Whatever they are."  
    "Prolly not that different than what we usually do!" Clover said with a mouthfull of candy, and a handfull of his own cigars. "But if you screwed it up," Clover giggled, "well, in this timeline, it'd be in character!"  
    Die had been quietly sucking away at a lollypop. The corner of his mouth turned up slightly; Clover's laughter was a bit infectious. He parked the car a block from the _Hearts Flush_ upon Eggs' request. Walking in, in uniform, was fine for a quick heist. But if they wanted to play the machines, abuse their powers a bit, "rip them off" as Stitch so eloquently put it, they needed disguises.  
    Luckily, there was a clothing store across the street.

    "I look pretty good!"  
    Clover twirled in his flapper skirt, curtseying into the tiny car door mirror. Eggs almost popped that question again, but refrained. He bent down to examine himself in that same mirror. "Am I wearin' this right?" he asked Clover. "It don't feel right."  
    "Yeah, I don't think the dress's workin' for you, here," Clover snickered. "Stick to pants."  
    "I didn't realize it was a lady's clothing store 'til after I made the threat," Eggs frowned. "Can't just run in and rob a place without... takin' nothing. Uh, Die? You ready yet?"  
    Die reluctantly stepped out from the shadow of the alley, clutching his doll tightly to his chest. Clover shot him a facetious wolf whistle. Once in the car, they donned the last piece of their disguises: veiled hats that obscured their faces, and headed off.  
    The establishment smelled still fresh and new. The carpeting and machines were pristine and bright, the game sounds ringing clearly. A band played uplifting jazz, igniting that little worm of passion in Eggs to play competently. Even ditzy Deuce of the Midnight Crew could play _something_. And be good at it.  
    Near the stage was a bar, the tall, surly Prospitan bartender ready to give one of the drunker patrons the business. On the other side of the drunk were two familiar figures that told him instantly that the kiss of luck had worked. Without thinking, Eggs shoved the drunken carapace off of his stool to sit next to Biscuits, apologizing to him as an afterthought.  
    "Eggsy," Biscuits said with a squint, recognizing him after a moment's stare. "I thought you liked your disguise."  
    Eggs leaned in and embraced him tightly. "I found you!" he said with a giddy voice. Biscuits hugged him back, although he was thoroughly confused.  
    "Is something wrong?" Biscuits said, patting his friend on the back.  
    "I'm not who you think I am, kinda," Eggs gestured to himself, and with a twisted up tongue explained himself. Biscuits' look of concern shifted into a look of joy.  
    "Eggsy! That's-" he paused, becoming suddenly stern. "Did something bad happen to me? I mean, _your_ me."  
    " _My_ you is fine," Eggs assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "...where's your me, anyway?"  
    "My you is playing the claw machine," Biscuits pointed. Across the room was a second Eggs, laying sideways on the floor, reaching up inside the door of the machine. "He's gotten stuck about 3 times now," Biscuits sighed. "And the first time he wasn't even trying to cheat! I still don't get how that happened."  
    Eggs found himself looking past Biscuits. Snowman sat quietly with her brandy and cigarette, doing the same thing Eggs was. At him. He wondered if she knew him.  
    "Biscuit," Eggs said quickly, "Can I ask you some things?"  
    "I wanna ask you some things too," Biscuits replied, looking him up and down. "What's with the cheap dress?"  
    "Oh come on," Eggs said, "I don't look at least a little pretty?" He stood up and fumbled a curtsey. Biscuits chuckled softly, and Eggs caught Snowman placing a hand to her mouth to muffle her own sounds.  
    Biscuits playfully poked Eggs' belly. "You couldn't even bother with a corset?"  
    "I have a good personality," he crossed his arms, mock-indignantly. Silence, then a burst of laughter erupted from both parties. Snowman smiled and faded out. Then, Eggs asked Biscuits about his oven.  
    "It's got power," Biscuits said seriously, "But... I know you too well. If I tell you, you're gonna tell your me how to use it."  
    "Well, yeah," Eggs freely admitted. "I'm doing it mostly for him. You-he's my best friend, after all. And he's a Felt! I think he deserves to know his own power, don't you?"  
    "I wouldn't trust me with it," Biscuits warned him. "In fact, I wouldn't really trust anyone with it. Why an object like that even _exists_ is beyond me."  
    "I know you know what you're talkin' about, but I wanna see it myself. Judge it myself, y'know?"  
    "Eggsy... if you weren't my best friend, I wouldn't even consider it. But you are. So..." he sighed, defeated, "You'll see. Later. For now, drink with me. Tell me about your adventures so far."

    "You seriously kissed him? Seriously?"     
    "Not on purpose! ...okay, okay, not on my terms. Well, not exactly. It's complicate-- yes, sir, I'm an adult!"  
    "How was it?"  
    Clover groused. After returning his ID to his pocket, he placed his bet at the table, without answering his other self.  
    "Aww come on!" Clover-2 said. "Did you like it?"  
    Clover exclaimed, "Why don't you go find out yourself?"  
    "Ohh, I think you liked it a little bit, or you wouldn't be so _de-fen-sive_!"  
    "Look, it wasn't even a real kiss, I mean, we was sorta bein' shoved in place and parts happened to match up. What's to like about that?"  
    "Soo," Clover-2 said, rocking on his heels, "are you guys sharing the luck, or did he just sorta suck it all outta you like a luck vacuum?"  
    "13, black," the Dersite dealer said. Clover's eyes widened with shock. He scrambled up onto the table and hovered over the roulette wheel, much to the audible chagrin of the other players and the dealer. "Hey, hey, kid-- I mean-- damn, get the hell off!"  
    "No no no!" Clover exclaimed. He jumped off, scattering chips, and dashed to the line of slot machines. Clover-2 was on his tail.  
    "Try this one! It's a good one!" he insisted, and helped Clover up onto the seat just as a disguised Doze was passing by.  
    Clover's body slanted to the side as he looked out beyond the machine. Across the way was Die, playing blackjack-- his Die-- he could tell by the dress. Judging by the carapaces angrily leaving the table, it seemed like he was winning. A lot. "Oh fuck no," Clover muttered as he grasped the lever with both arms, and with all his weight pulled the arm down.  
    "What's going on?" Doze asked, and Clover-2 provided an answer through a horrendous gigglefit.  
    "Oh, okay. But I was mostly wondering about the, um, dress. Not that there's anything wrong with that...."  
    "No!" Clover cried out, pounding on the machine and catching half the casino's attention. "No no no!"

 

( [ 7 ][ 7 ][ BAR ] )

  
    Over Clover-2's amused noises, Doze could not help but snicker a bit. He at least apologized for it. Clover tried again.

( [ 7 ][ 7 ][ CHERRY ] )

  
    And again.

( [ 7 ][ 7 ][ 7- PSYCHE! ][ SHAMROCK ] )

  
    Again.

( [ STOP ][ TRY- ][ BAR ] )

  
    Clover slid down from the chair and marched towards Die, whom was just leaving the table with an armfull of chips. Doze and Clover-2 followed and watched as Clover jumped him and kissed him as hard as he could, scattering the winnings all across the floor.

    "Eggsy, look what you've gone and done," Biscuits playfully chided him. "You know that favor you're gonna do them is gonna kill you, right?"  
    "Yeah," Eggs sighed, "I know. So uh, what's with Clover, anyway?"  
    Biscuits leaned into Eggs' ear and whispered, "today, we found out the metal of the machines were made with tachyonite shavings."  
    "Oh... ohh! That's uh, that's the technical name for merlin, right?"  
    "When it's melted down and refined," Biscuits nodded. "So if we want to cheat, we have to do it legitimately. If that makes any sense."  
     
    Die kissed Clover back, just as direly. Clover took it as a competition, and did not stop until he felt that he had won. There now, among the chips and surrounded by a small crowd, Die sat, quite bewildered and flushed, with an angry Clover splayed across his lap and shouting at his face.  
    "You can't keep it!" Clover cried, shaking him by the collar. "Give it back!"  
    "K-keep-- keep- wh-hat? Y-your l-luck?"  
    "...Yeah," Clover squinted angrily, shaking him just barely now.  
    "That... that wore off," Die shyly said, face turned away, "some time ago. Got lucky-- err, my own way, that one time. Lost plenty before that last one."  
    Clover, tremendously embarrassed, released Die's collar and tried to regain his composure, doing his best to ignore his counterpart's laughter at his expense. Grabbing Die once again, but more gently this time, he asked, "It wore o-- Then- then why'd you kiss me back?"  
    "Why not?" he murmured.  
    Clover slumped slightly, caught off-guard. Taking a deep breath, he let go for good this time, and with a determined tone said, "Okay, guess I can't blame you there. But look, Die, we're gonna get Eggs back for this," he assured him, fists clenched. "We'll get him good."  
    Die looked up, and nodded, reaching for one of the pins in his hat. "I have the pin for him right-"  
    "Not like that!" Clover slapped Die's hand away. "I meant the favors he owes us!"  
    "...Oh," he rubbed his hand, "...y... yes."  
    "What was that gonna accomplish anyway?"  
    "I-I was going to... his corpse, take it with me and... and," he stopped to think. "Potentially lose my only, um... friend. Nevermind."  
    Clover's face softened. "Only friend? Eggs? I'm so sorry," he said, only half-jokingly. Die shook his head.  
    "Don't be," he said as he stood, and helped Clover up. Clover then shot Clover-2, still suffering from the giggles, a nasty look.  
    "What?" he said, a hand over his grinning mouth.  
    Clover rolled his eyes and turned to Die, saying: "Am I really this irritating?"

    "This means Clover's got a real time power," Eggs suggested, "right? It's not just luckiness?"  
    Biscuits shrugged. "He could be a little lucky. But yeah, he definitely has a power. The fixed machine's testament enough to that. As for what it does exactly, we can only speculate. But I did have a theory."  
    "I figured maybe he was hopping to more favorable timelines."  
    "But if that's so, if the outcome of the next event might turn out badly for him, if Clover hops somewhere else, then does he simply disappear from the bad timeline? It certainly wouldn't replace that line's Clover with another one."  
    "Oh... I guess," Eggs said, subdued.  
    "Do you know what chaos and string theory are, Eggsy?" Biscuits said. Eggs' blank expression gave him away. "In the barest terms, there are many different ways in which an event can end, creating multiple timelines-"  
    "-Die told me the same thing when he was talkin' about his power," Eggs interjected. "I know this stuff, I just... didn't know the super official name for it, s'all."  
    "Alright. Well, Clover is able to pick out the most optimal ending for any event, and redirect our path that way. That is what we have worked out."  
    "You two talked about it, huh," Eggs said, slightly disgruntled. "Hm... did you talk about... well, is Clover a girl?"  
    "I personally think he is," Biscuits said guardedly. "We're just so used to calling her a he. But, that's just me. There's no disputing, though: _Clover_ is totally a girl's name. "  
    "I know!" Eggs said with extended arms. "Oh, hey, while we're on girls, smarty, Snowy's power? Is ending the universe even a time power?"  
    "Well, she's the ( 8 )," Biscuits said.  
    "But that's billiards," Eggs protested, "I mean, I know we're all-- I'm talking about time. Is it a time power?"  
    "The number eight can also represent infinity," Biscuits said as he made a sideways figure eight in the air with his finger. "Or an hourglass, a timer. The sand representing the passing of time. And if you smash that hourglass... well, it wont be pretty."  
    "Oh. No, yeah."  
    They drank, and they changed the subject from the temporal, and watched the other Felt try and work around the tachyonite until Crowbar gave the signal.  
    "Want to help us finish the place off?" Biscuits offered. Eggs finished off his glass.  
    "Sure. Let's go!"


	4. HOLDER

Biscuits drove with one hand on the wheel, the other lazing out the window. The large vehicle contained him, both Eggs, and Die and Clover comfortably, even providing enough room for Eggs-2 to wiggle about like an excited dog.  
    "Tachyonite? _Tachyonite_? Shit! Really?" In a huff, Clover collapsed back into his seat in Eggs' lap, arms crossed and brows furrowed. "I thought that crap was super rare or something? They barely got 'nough merlin circulating in the streets back home, how can they fit all those casino machines with the stuff?"  
    "Sometimes desert traders find caches of the stuff," Biscuits said. "It's still fairly rare. They just sprinkle shavings in with the steel when they melt it all down. But it works well enough, apparently."  
    "Yeah my thing wouldn't do nothin'!" Eggs-2 said with his head poking over the front seats. Die leaned flat against the door, attempting to create more space between the two of them, just in case.  
    Eggs leaned into Biscuits and whispered, "he uses it a lot?" Biscuits gave him a solemn nod.  
    "I try, damn it, I try. You know talking doesn't work. Tried hiding it, even, but he always finds it somehow. It's worse when he's lonely, and despite what everyone else thinks, I just can't be with him 24/7. I'm not his damn _keeper_... er, sorry. Unloaded on you there."  
    "I know how it can be," Eggs said.  
    "I don't really think _you_ do... nevermind, nevermind. Sorry."  
    Slowly, Eggs said, "s'okay. Um, well, maybe I can teach him that trick I learned."  
    "I doubt you can. But, yes, sure, try. Who knows?"  
    "Or hey," Clover said, reclining on Eggs' lap. He patted it. "Maybe let him duplicate himself 'til someone like this guy comes out of it." Biscuits' face fell in a way that told Clover that he had said the wrong thing. "Or yeah, just teach him the trick. It still might happen, y'know!"  
    "Maybe."  
    After the division of heist money, the five of them converged in Biscuits' room. It still had the charming appearance of a salvation army store struck by a hurricane, and copy-pasted multiple times, but minus any musical instruments, and plus a far superior bunk bed that Eggs stared at with a pang of annoyance. Die picked his way through the mess awkwardly, managing to find a pile of clothing to rest on. Clover, a too-large sandwich under his arm, followed and jumped into it as if it were a pile of leaves and started eating. Eggs turned his attention to Biscuits' oven.  
    "Tomorrow," he said, guiding Eggs away from it. "Just relax, for now, and-- oh, here, take these."  
    "Glasses?" Eggs said, turning the glasses end over end. "I don't need glasses."  
    "To differentiate you," Biscuits said. "That's all. It's just the frames, anyway, no glass." As he said this, Eggs poked his finger into the empty frame. It did not take but a moment's observation to tell the two Eggs apart, but he supposed it was convenient.  
    "Ooh, you look like a professor," said Clover through a mouthful. "Say something smart, prof!"  
    "I do, huh? Alrighty, E=MC... uh, crap, how's that go. MCnuggets?"  
    "Whoa!" Eggs-2 gaped from the top bunk. "It's like, lookin' into a mirror, but all smart-like."  
    "So, um," Die said, finally breaking his silence, "what are we to do until tomorrow? Clover and I?"  
    "Hey yeah, I wasn't plannin' on stayin' overnight," Clover said. "And I'm not staying with that prick."  
    "Your other self?"  
    "Why'd I come with you guys anyway? I don't gotta be here."  
    "You're our good luck charm!" Eggs insisted.  
    "Pshh," Clover batted the air with a hand before falling back into the clothing pile. He finished the sandwich with one big bite. "Hmm. Still hungry. But too comfy to get up.Yeah, guess I'll stay right here." Clover made _shoo_ motions at Die. "You can go stay with your alt, can't you?"  
    "He usually-" Eggs started, "-uh, we, uh."  
    "I wouldn't have the space," Die said. He started to rise up. "I'll go find a, a decorative couch in the hall or... something, I suppose."  
    Said Eggs, "why don't we-- oh--" he snapped his fingers. "That guest room! Why didn't you just- I mean, we didn't have to... uh." He could not quite find a way to formulate that sentence without revealing what he and Die had been doing. Apparently, the bed swapping was weird _enough_.  
    "Are you talking about that dusty room on the top floor?" Biscuits said. "You know no one's supposed to be up there, don't you?"  
    "Really?" Eggs frowned. "But no one ever uses it. I hang out in there sometimes."  
    "Eh, we don't know why!" Clover said. "Who knows, with all the weird stuff that happens here, maybe it's actually a doorway to hell or somethin'." He mocked evil laughter and covered his eyes. "Where we're goin', we wont need eyes to see! Hehehehe!"  
    Noting Eggs' wide-eyed expression, Biscuits added, "or it's just someone's spare room that they don't want people poking around in."  
    "C'mon Die," Eggs said, offering his hand. "I know a pretty comfy couch. Far away from that room. I'll meet you back here tomorrow, Biscuit, 'kay?"  
    They exchanged _good night_ s as Eggs and Die left the room.

    Eggs was always slightly distraught when he woke up alone, his eyes meeting just mottled green wall. Die had always managed to wiggle out of his grasp without waking him. Perhaps his deliberately affectionate attentions bothered him? He sat up on the backless couch and stretched. _No_ , he thought, he should not be so troubled. He reminded himself: they were just friends; at the most, the two of them were _in like_ with each other. Still....

    "Sleep alright?" Biscuits asked. When Eggs shrugged, he put his arm on his shoulder and started walking him out the door. "No rush. Let's eat first."  
    Eggs-2 was, however, in a rush, dashing out and down the hall, out of sight. Biscuits reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a flask.  
    "Little early for that?" Eggs said cautiously.  
    "Never too early."  
    Halfway to the kitchen, a _RIIING_ caught them unawares. Eggs-2 popped into existence before them, touching Eggs' shoulder. "Tag, you're it!" And he made an unseen adjustment to his timer and disappeared again.  
    Eggs stared open-mouthed at the empty space a moment before turning to Biscuits and asking, "how the hell'd he do that?"  
    Biscuits' face twisted up. "What do you m- you didn't know you could?"  
    "Nobody ever told me I could, like, teleport or whatever he did! Well, nobody told me _anything_ I guess."  
    "Didn't you ever think to- can I see your timer? - here, didn't you think to ever, say, pull the dial outwards?"  
    "...No?"  
    "He found it out by accident. Thought he broke it. Here, pull it out, and that sets it to a different mode." He handed the timer back to Eggs, and he did as instructed. "Then set the time. Five minutes?"  
    The moment the dial clicked into place, a faded, purple-tinted afterimage of his friend animated in front of him, pacing back and fourth across the hall like a restless ghost. Eggs waved a hand in front of Biscuits, eliciting no reaction. He reached out to touch the image, only for his hand to pass through it as if it were liquid, snapping back into place once he retracted his arm.  
    _RIIING_  
Biscuits' afterimage solidified in its place, and he became aware of Eggs once again.  
    "Well? What was it like?"  
    "...Weird."  
    Eggs explained to the best of his ability, and the two of them worked it out over breakfast. The timer seemed to place him on a different plane, dimension, making him completely insubstantial, and completely undetectable, for however long he set the time for. And, with a little more experimentation, it would even summon duplicates for him at the end, should he quickly push the dial in and out upon setting it.  
    "That's crazy. I had a feeling there was stuff we didn't know about our powers, but I thought I had mine all figured out. What else don't I know? What about the other Felt?" He nudged Biscuits gently. "The oven?"  
    "In time," Biscuits said with a heavy sigh. "At least finish eating, first." Eggs took his plate of waffles and tipped it into his open mouth, finishing it off in one spectacular gulp.  
   "I'm done. How 'bout now?"

    Clover and Die were in the room already, a deck of cards settled between them, but they did not appear to be playing.  
    "If you were _really_ good you'd be able to beat out my luckiness, y'know."  
    "But, half of th-the game is luck."  
    "Ohh Die, Die-y, Die. That's such a negative way to look at it-- oh, hello there!" Clover waved. "Did'ja bring me back anything? I'm starving!"  
    "I saw you eat this morning. Several times," Biscuits said, arms crossed.  
    "Fine, I'll get somethin' myself-- unless, ohh, are you gonna do it? Are you gonna show him? I wanna see what the big fuss is! Die, you get the snacks. Steak-- rare, I want the thing to moo at me!"  
    His shoulders sagged. "I, um, I... I want to see, too."  
    "Okay, okay. Eggsy?"  
    Biscuits dragged the oven out, saying, "Shut up, Clover. Eggsy- tell, me, how do you imagine the thing working?"  
    "Isn't that what I came here for? If I knew I wouldn'ta needed to track you down."  
    "I'm a little surprised; you were always the more imaginative one. You, my you, were the one who inspired me, after all. Sitting above me, watching me agonize over the oven much like you did. I played with the dials, I opened and closed the door and flicked the light on and off. Checked its surface all over, finding nothing.  
   "I suppose I was hungry one day, because when Eggsy asked if we could bake a cake, in my mind, I shut my eyes to rest them, and pictured it: an orange, temporal cake, sitting inside of the oven." He paused a moment, and there was a sharp ding. Biscuits moved his hand from the oven's top and opened the door. "And there it was," he said, sidestepping. Inside was a gently glowing, sweet-smelling orange cake.  
    Eggs almost moved to touch it. "Oh my god. I never even... none of us, we... holy shit, seriously?"  
   " _Imagination_ ," Biscuits said, spreading his hands in an arc. Clover started, but Biscuits interrupted him: "If you're going to ask if you can eat it, no. You don't want to eat this 'cake'. You don't want anything to happen to this cake. We found this out the hard way."  
    "Well, what is it, then? Enough with the dramatics, spit it out!" Clover said, plopping down directly in front of the thing. Die followed him over, standing between him and Eggs.  
    "This is our timeline," Biscuits said frankly.  
    "Wait. What?" Eggs' eyes shot between his friend and the baked good. "How can it be the timeline when we're already here?"  
    "A, um, representation?" Die suggested, gently squeezing his doll.  
    "More than that," Biscuits said. "Whatever affects the cake, affects us in real time. Like I said, we discovered this the hard way. The only reason we still exist is because of Matchsticks."  
    "Wow, _sooo_ ," Clover said, rocking back and fourth in his seat, "you're really gonna tell this to our Biscuits? Really? Wish for a magic cake and it'll come true?"  
    Eggs swallowed. "I... well. I have to."  
    "You do not _'have to_ ', Eggs," Biscuits suddenly flared. "I only told you this because-because- I'm an idiot. Even after all this time, I'm still an idiot."  
    "Then why'd you even show me?!" Eggs demanded. "You knew what I was gonna do."  
    "I was hoping you'd change your mind when you knew the truth," he grunted. "I was hoping you were smarter than this. I guess we're both still morons. _Especially_ you."  
    "I guess so!" Eggs stamped. "And I been wantin' to say this since we first started talking at the casino: quit actin' like you're smarter than me!"  
    "I _am_ smarter than you!"  
    Die tugged at Clover's sleeve, motioning for them to leave the room. Clover shot him a disappointed look before letting him lead him out the door.  
    "You ain't impressin' nobody!"  
    Biscuits raised a finger. "First off, _ain't_ isn't a word. Second, your sentence is a double-negative-"  
    "Holy crap, shut up!"  
    Die shut the door, muffling the sounds of their argument behind solid wood.  
    "You scared, Die?" Clover said, nudging his leg with a foot. Die slid down the door and sat beside him.  
    "A little."  
    Eggs-2 appeared in a flash, arms crossed and pouting. Clover and Die glanced up, unfazed by his sudden presence. "You guys are all terrible at tag! I should-"  
    As lifted his timer, Die and Clover both shot up and cried, _"no, don't!_ " And he paused, letting his arm hang by the side. Eggs-2 instead leaned into the door and listened.  
    "Ohh... is he mad at me again?"  
    "More or less," Clover shrugged. Eggs-2 backed away, a guilty look on his face.  
    "He's mad at me more 'n he's happy at me anymore. I think it's 'cuz of my toy. B-but, but, but," he said, his eyes just barely becoming misty, "my friends always go home quick 'nough so I don't get what the big deal is!"  
    "Oh Eggs," Die said, crushing his doll between his fingers.  
    "Hey, hey, look," Clover said, spreading his arms, "let's play tag, huh? C'mon, Die, you'll play with us, right? Tag with just two people is _laaame_."  
    "Tag? Um, um... o-okay, I guess," Die hefted himself from the floor. "I never, um, actually played tag before-"  
    Eggs-2 blinked away the wetness in his eyes and lightly touched Die's shoulder. "Yes you did! We're playin' now! You're it!" He vanished.  
    "H-hey, that's cheating," Die said, a smile forming against his will.  
    "You're not gonna kill him for that, are ya?" Clover teased.  
    "I don't _kill_ anyone-" he weakly protested. "Ohh. Clover. This is, um... this is going to be a long game, isn't it?"

    At least an hour had passed before the noises behind the door came to a stop. An hour later, and Eggs and Biscuits left the room and found Clover and Die and Eggs-2, and even Clover-2 sitting in a circle on the fuzzy rug in the center of the foyer floor.  
    "Dare!" Clover said. "Gimme a good one!"  
    "Clover," Biscuits said solemnly, garnering the attention of both. In his hands was a tin holding the cake. Eggs was at his side, mirthless and keeping a distance, those frames barely sliding down his nose. "Take this to the vault. Both of you. And for the love of god, be careful."  
    "Maybe Die should take it," Eggs suggested, his voice a little cold. He did not face Biscuits. "The cake's too big for Clover to carry."  
    "If both of them carry it, it'll be fine," Biscuits said, also refusing to look at Eggs. "Besides, they're lucky. Clover was one of the few that was fine during our little incident."  
    "I was?" Clover-2 asked. "You know none of us remember this stuff! Sticks had to tell you, even."  
    Clover stood and held his hands out. "Guys, we'll figure it out ourselves! Leave the cake and go kiss 'n make up, 'k?"  
    Eggs and Biscuits exchanged slow glances, still groused from their argument. The cake was placed gently on the floor, and the two of them headed back to their room. Biscuits called back, "Eggsy," to the other, "come with us."  
    "Oh, 'kay Biscuit," Eggs-2 rose and was directed around the cake as he went after them.

    The cake arrived safely at the vault door, where Clover-2 proceeded with the unlocking process, humming and scatting as he worked. Clover and Die sat opposite each other, the cake separating them. The cake really was beautiful, in an odd way. It was unembellished, perfectly circular, perfectly smooth, and smelled of fresh oranges. Clover's mouth had been watering the entire way. He lifted a finger. Die looked up.  
    "Clover. Don't-"  
    He ran his finger over the edge of the cake, just a small smudge of frosting, and licked it off. " _Mmm_! I'd suggest you try some, but that would involve me havin' to kiss you again. Or you lickin' it off my finger. And we both know that ain't happenin' without money getting involved."  
    The vault door creaked open and hung just ajar. Said Clover-2, in an oddly subdued manner, "It's... open." He hopped down from the lip of the door and calmly lay down as if to take a nap.  
    Clover said, "hey, get up. What're you doing?" When there was no response, Clover stood and kicked his double's side, asking again. Die was there soon after, kneeling down and cradling Clover-2's head in his lap. He began checking vitals, eventually coming to the conclusion: "He's dead."  
    "Bullshit!"  
    " _He's dead_."  
    "No, just lazy, and needs to, needs to...." Clover's ear was to his other's chest. He shouted in his face, slapped him, pounded on his chest. "Needs to... oh god. No. Oh no. Oh no, no, no." Clover's eyes welled up, fists balled. "Oh shit, Die. It was the fucking cake, wasn't it? Oh god. But- he said- we were supposed to be okay! Biscuits is a fucking liar!"  
    "He-he didn't actually _know_. He learned secondhand from Matchsticks, apparently," Die said, having difficulty finding his words. "It, um, might have been, been coincidence?"  
    "The entire goddamn timeline and it had to take...." he collapsed onto Clover-2's body, burying his face in the other's neck, voice wavering wildly as he cried into it. "Oh god I'm so sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry I didn't know, I didn't mean to-- I thought-- I'm so sorry- Die." He sniffled hard and pulled away, eyes and cheeks moist. "Die, we can't let Eggs make one for our timeline."  
   "Agreed."  
   Clover was having major difficulties keeping his composure in front of Die, no matter how he resisted. He could not stop crying. Die gingerly lay Clover-2 down and reached for the other, wrapping his arms around him. "Wh... what're you doing?"  
    "Ohh, um... sorry, I-I, um, guess I picked this up from Eggs," Die said. He would have let go if Clover had not held him fast, suddenly all too aware of how small (and boney) a man Die really was. He could belt his arms about his chest and easily lace his fingers together.  
   "Holy _shit_ , Die," Clover said,face scrunched against him. "You might weigh less than I do. That's just fucked up."  
   "I know. I, I don't need to keep hearing it over and over again. I know."  
    "So. Eggs is a real huggy type, huh?"  
    "Very, very, um, affectionate, yes," Die said. "It's... it's sweet. Hard to get used to."  
    "I can barely believe this, all of this. I must be dreaming, or nightmaring, or both."  
    Die stroked Clover's cheek in an attempt to be reassuring. "Are you scared?"  
    "I'm fucking terrified."  
    "Me too."  
    "Then don't let go."  
    They held each other for a long few minutes before resolving to put the cake away. The vault was dimly lit by an eerily, sickly-green lightbulb suspended freely from the ceiling. Lockboxes, primarily, lined both shelves rising up from both sides. The air seemed heavy with electricity, making the skin of Clover and Die feel as if it were tingling. Clover was used to it. Die was not. " _Fuck_ ," he whispered. "It doesn't feel, feel... _right_ in here. Oh shit."  
    Clover reached for the hand that was not clutching a doll, squeezing firmly. Die squeezed back. In the very back, odd temporal instruments were stashed away. A fan, a car battery, a locked, dark-red minifridge that he easily solved open, in which a second, pristine cake was stored, looking as beautiful and smelling just as wonderful as if it had just been freshly baked.  
    "The cake... cakes are inert?" Die breathed. "Oh god."  
Clover, with Die's help, brought their cake back inside to slide it into the slot above the old one. Clover locked it. He almost left the vault without pocketing more than a few greenbacks, offering Die a third of the money, and filling Clover-2's pockets with the rest. It was the best he could think of to make up for what he did, at the moment.  
    "We'll convince Eggs to keep this under his hat," Clover said, initiating the final locking sequence, "then we'll find Matchsticks and fix this."  
   "Would that even work?" Die asked.  
   "What'cha mean? He fixed it the first time. More or less."  
   "And everyone but he forgot the whole thing happened. He had to warn them. We are not of his timeline. We, we may awaken back home, no one ever having remembered this and no one to remind us. So we return, or-- as far as we know-- arrive for the first time, and are refused outright this time. But Eggs, he would be undeterred. With your luck, we would find another, and repeat the process once again, and again, and again."  
   "That's just a lotta speculation, Die," Clover said. But he was not unconvinced. "The new timelines ain't gonna be exactly the same-"  
   "They would be close enough."  
   "Everyone else from our timeline would notice us stuck in an, _unlucky,_ infinite loop!"  
   "I... suppose they would notice you and Eggs gone. O-oh."  
   "Hey! Hey. C'mon. Wouldn't Crowbar notice you was gone? You report to him every week with your little death journal or whatever that thing is. He'd notice."  
   "He pays me no attention," Die placed his fist against his mouth and bit his finger. Muffled, he said, "I don't deserve that kind of attention."  
Clover would have slapped him, if he had the height. Instead, he punched his shin. _"O-ow."_  
   "Y'know what? We're gonna have a talk about your personal issues later, and don't you avoid me when I decide we do! But right now, we gotta take care of _this_ ," he said, indicating Clover-2.

    When they reached Biscuits' room, still more shouting spilled from the spaces betwixt door and wall, flooding the adjacent halls. It had attracted attention; Trace hovered at the door, ear pressed to it, as well as Itchy.  
    "I ain't never heard him this pissed at Eggs before," Trace said, excited.  
    "It's not even our Eggs, it's that other smart one from last night!" Itchy said.  
    Eggs and Biscuits both fell quiet when Clover barged in and Die stepped in holding Clover-2's body out for them both to see. Trace and Itchy looked in. Eggs-2 sat on the edge of the top bunk, having been quiet the entire time. Clover explained. Eggs still could not relent.  
    "He deserves to know," he said, voice level and hoarse from yelling.  
    "You deserve to get kicked in the ass!" Biscuits said.  
    "I'll help!" Clover said, rolling up a sleeve.  
    "He deserves to know!" Eggs cried.  
    "Leave!" Biscuits growled. "Just... leave. Fine, go destroy your own timeline. It's none of my business. If you manage to survive, it'll be a much-needed learning experience. Just go. Leave our Clover here. We'll take care of it."  
    "Fine," Eggs sniffled. "I'll go. Let's go."  
    Die raised the doll. Clover did not let go of his duplicate without a small fight.  
   "Tell Clove' I'm sorry," Clover asked, tears flowing once again.  
   "He isn't going to _remember_."  
   "I don't care!"  
   "Clover," Die sat on his knees and held out his hand. "It'll be okay."  
   The three touched. Eggs removed the frames from his face and dropped them to the floor. And Die removed the pin.


	5. DUST

     But an unseen motion,  the slipping in place of an additional pin, ensured that they did not arrive home quite yet. There was a certain strangeness and bleakness in that fractured ally they landed in, moreso than usual. Though the sun was high, the sky was painted like a sunset, predominately red and orange. The most jarring thing was the surrounding buildings, mutilated and scarred, but patched just enough to be functional. Under various wanted signs on either side of the alley were broken bricks and exposed wire and supports, planks and sheets just barely hiding them.  
     The breeze carried an abnormal amount of dust as well, and it had long settled in every nook and cranny of their surroundings. Its color mirrored the sky and breathing it in made Eggs feel a little dizzy. Judging by Die and Clover's reactions, they seemed to have experienced about the same.  
    Eggs rubbed his eyes. "Die," he said, squinting at the doll and the additional pin embedded in its fabric face, "I said I wanted to go home."  
    Die held the doll tight to his chest. Clover fiercely spoke for him, saying, "then change your mind!"  
    His voice weak and eyes wet, Eggs tried to explain again. As much as he wanted to go home, go collapse in his bed and possibly cry into it, he could not just let this go. Neither could they.  
    "It is stupid," he finally, haltingly said. "It's real stupid. But I don't care."  
    "That _is_ stupid," Clover agreed. "Y'know, you still owe me an' Die favors. I think I know what I want."  
    "Please don't ask that-"  
    "-I'm asking that!"  
    "Okay," Eggs whispered. He started to sit, when Die made a short protest. "What now?" Eggs said with an edge of irritation.  
    "The, the um... body, is behind you," Die said. "D-don't sit on it."  
    Eggs darted forward, almost daring to look over his shoulder at it. "Can we go home now? Please?"  
    Die looked down at Clover, for approval, and the corner of his mouth twitched.  
    "Yeah. Okay," Clover said. "Home sounds good, right? Right."  
    With a nod, Die removed the other pin.  
  
                            And nothing happened.  
  
    Wide-eyed, he replaced it, removed it, again and again. Nothing happened. "I, um... this dust... I think it's more than just dust."  
  
    They ventured out to check their surroundings, having nothing else to do for the time being but be mad at Eggs. Their green theme stuck out prominently in the red-orange atmosphere, and the weary carapaces, many wearing some kind of hood or facemask, stared at or avoided them. Midnight City was in dire straits even in their own timeline, but as they passed the severely patchwork buildings, the great gaps and fissures in the road, the sickly-looking people, the encroaching desert, it became more and more obvious that something had gone horribly wrong here.  
    "So, um... what else should we do, then?" Die said. Eggs shrugged. Clover tugged at their coattails, then pointed to the run-down building ahead of them.  
    "Let's get stupid drunk."  
     
    Eggs and Die and Clover took their seats at the bar. It was dark, lit sparsely by small electric lanterns and candles, smokey, and the windows were nothing more than dark bedsheets draped over massive holes in the walls. The Beverage Distributor made no effort to conceal that he was making their one drink option in a bathtub of questionable sanitation, sitting in plain sight behind the counter. But it was better than milling around outside.  
    "Hey," BD snapped, his glare shifting between Clover and Die. "You can't bring your daughter in here! This ain't _bring your daughter to sleezy bar_ day. That's next Saturday."  
    "What!" Clover cried out over Die's quiet protest and Eggs' gigglefit. The outburst of course drew attention to them; one Dersite leaned in close enough for Eggs to shoe her away. She dashed out the front door.  
    "Wait," BD leaned in close, squinting. "Wait a minute... you're a... you three are- "  
    " _Adults_!" Clover insisted, pounding the counter with a small balled up fist. "We. Three. Are. _Adults_! Thirsty adults."  
    "Maybe," said a deep voice, sending a shudder down Eggs' spine. He twisted around to find that that deep voice belonged to a rather large Prospitan man. Beside him was another, presumably a friend. "You're also Felt, ain't ya?"  
    Eggs' eyes shifted to and fro before coming to the answer: "Uh... no."  
    "See," Clover added, "we're actually from the Soft-shelled Green Kingdom. You prolly ain't heard of us, _super_ exclusive kingdom. We just got back from a  billiards-theme party. Are you buying this? ...Guys, he's not buying this."  
    Eggs, struggling with the large Prospitan, shoved him back just enough to say, "Yeah, I know." His friend already had Die in his one arm, holding him as tightly as Die had held his own voodoo doll, and Clover was captured none too soon after. The bar patrons cheered on Eggs and his attacker, placing bets. BD only groaned and tapped his foot impatiently. "You're paying for anything you break, you know that right?"  
    As the Prospitan slammed Eggs face-up onto the counter, he said: "Oh yeah, yeah. Gonna pay the tab and bar damage. Soon as we take a trip down to the arena. They have a special price on these things, you know."  
    "Yeah, sure," BD shook his head.  
    The man managed to wrap his hands around Eggs' neck and lift him up a bit-- enough to slam his head against the counter.  
     
    He awoke with an aching head and neck in a cramped, dank stall of metal bars rather than wooden walls. The floor was dirt covered in hay. As well, there was something constricting Eggs' neck. His fingers traced a sort of collar forward and back, finding no clasp or any method of removal at all-- featureless. Clover had been tossed in with him, and on him Eggs could see a dark red band encircling his little neck. Die was in the stall to the left with that same accessory. A Prospit girl was cowering in the right.  
    Eggs inclined his head at her, knowing that he recognized the girl from somewhere... ah! She was that poor cashier working at the very first, very botched job Eggs ever attempted. Or, another iteration of her, at any rate.  
    Behind him was a solid door, before him was a gate covered with a black curtain. Beyond it, he heard the sounds of a chattering crowd. To his side, the sound of Die awaking.  
    "M-my, my-" Die started, his voice high, fast with panic, "my doll is gone!" His breathing rapid, he groped along the ground for his precious artifact, inspiring Eggs to search for his as well. It, too, was gone. His reaction was annoyance, however, not hyperventilation.  
    There was a ledge above them, his attention called to it when a tall, stocky Dersite dressed in blotchy white and faded gold stood over it and greeted them. In each hand was a white and gold axe-- characteristic of what the three Felt knew as the Hatchet Gang. While not completely unheard of, Dersite Hatchets were rare; it was a primarily Prospitan gang after all, but this was not the time to contemplate this.  
    The black curtain came undone also, revealing a large, circular arena. The dusty ground was peppered with body parts and splattered with fingers of red gore. The crowd sat securely behind a dome of strange, undulating black and purple shadow. Surrounding the arena, safely behind this dome on a slightly elevated step, were a circle of Dersites holding their hands against this wall at each semi-hemisphere, glowing-- unglowing purple, maintaining it.  
    "The looks on your faces tell me this is new to you," said the Hatchet, "so I'll explain. Welcome to the Arena of Agony."  
    "Ooh, gee, I wonder what goes on in here," Clover jeered, momentarily forgetting his vulnerability. When the man lifted an axe, he remembered. It unglowed with that same aura, and from one jutting spike of the axehead, something sparked, and something invisible grabbed Clover by the neck.  
    "Do you want to go first?" he said, snapping his arm back and pulling Clover up to his feet as if tugged by a leash. He released his grip and let Clover fall. He gestured at Die's door, its gate rising. Die shrunk back against the wall. The Hatchet said, "well, you lucked out, for now. Your friend is going."  
    "Hey, no!" Eggs cried. "Send me instea-" he collapsed to the ground, coughing as the Hatchet raised his axe again. The other axe's spell took Die, lifted him, and dragged him out the gate as it closed behind him.  
    "Oh shit," Clover gasped. He and Eggs crawled up to the grill of their gate. "Die! Oh shit... good luck!"  
  
    Die was roughly hoisted up to his feet by a medium-sized Prospitan woman, another, more likely Hatchet member. He gulped in air as he was guided to a large chest. She lifted it open, revealing numerous gold-and-white-colored melee weapons: A battle axe, a spiked club, a ridiculously huge sword.  
    "Choose your weapon."  
    Die looked helplessly at her, then at his friends behind the gate, and back at the weapons. He gripped the base of the axe, but was unable to hold it very high, and not for very long. The other weapons were not much lighter.  
    "I-I-I," he stuttered almost incomprehensibly, "can't."  
    "Ooh," she hissed, mocking concern. Into a microphone she cried, "bare-handed combat it is! Begin placing your bets, ladies, gentlemen, and Snap" ( _Hey!_ came a disgruntled shout from the front row) "for our next battle: Die the Felt vs. Demon Cleaner! And we all know what happens to the unlucky Felt that end up in the arena, am I right?"  
    "W-who?"  
    "You'll see," the Prospitan said, lightly touching the bump of Die's nose with a finger before leaving the arena. He started after her, only to be balked by a black magical weight, holding him until the woman was allowed through the dome. He looked to his side. The Dersite that had held him was also maintaining a piece of the shield, although she could not do both things at once. As soon as the announcer had exited the dome, she released her hold on Die and quickly replaced her portion.  
    Die scanned the walls, finding the gate where Eggs and Clover whispered to each other. The crowd jeering at him. A gigantic gate set in the far wall. He tightly squeezed his own empty, trembling hands, feeling very, very sick.  
    Minutes later, the announcer's voice boomed over the arena. The game was starting. Without ceremony nor introduction, two heavily-armed and armored carapaces on either side of the large gate picked up chain ropes and pulled it open, leaving quickly after.  
    He heard Eggs shouting, "good luck! Lots and lots of lucky luck!"  
    Tremors nearly knocked Die off his feet. From the darkness of the gate emerged something ancient, tremendous, and starving. A great, mottled-green reptile on two legs like pillars of flesh, with stiff tail and giant head with a thick, rhino-esque nose horn. Its tremendous ribs were clearly visible through its bumpy skin, very clearly starved. Dirty gray feathers lined its neck like a mane and continued spottily down the spine, little ones fluttering and falling with nearly every movement. It lumbered listlessly until its tiny eyes spotted the surrounding audience, and pure instinct took over as it made a beeline for them. But that barrier balked it, its rows of monster teeth making no impression on the barrier, but giving the people sitting there quite a show. Only after several desperate attempts to get at the mass of morsels did it turn its attention to boney Die.  
    Demon Cleaner lunged for him.  
    
    "Clove'," Eggs gasped, eyes unable to peel themselves away from the beast. "I'm not the only one seeing a dinosaur, right? Right?"  
    Clover gulped. His hands and voice trembled. "That's pretty much a dinosaur, yeah."  
    " _Tyrannoceras rex,_ " said the cashier, the first time Eggs had heard her still-shaking voice since that incident in the casino. "Imported from outside th-the desert. Not native. Used to be ocean, this."  
    "Yeah-- I, I kinda knew it was a _T. rex,_ just," Eggs started, "It's real? I always wanted to see one but not like this."  
    She did not speak much more after that, remaining curled up in the corner trying to shrink into herself.  
  
    Die rolled to the side, just avoiding being stamped to the ground by those great claws. Demon Cleaner's head came down, jaws snapped and caught one of Die's coattails. With panicked swiftness that surprised even Die himself, he managed to loose the heavy coat before Demon Cleaner could pull him off the ground. He scrambled behind the dinosaur's leg, nearly tripping over his own feet on the way. The dinosaur bent his head and used his horn to poke at the coat and cast it aside once he realized it was not meat. He started moving again, attempting to reorient on his target. All Die could think to do was stay behind his leg, with increasing danger of being trampled. As lethargic as the monster really was, this could not go on forever; after all, it was supposed to be a deathmatch. He had to clear his head and think of a plan.  
    The crowd was growing tired of Die's hiding, booing and chiding him, but he could not care less. He took a brief moment to look at the stalls containing his companions. Eggs was busy straining at the bars, trying to wedge them far enough for him to get free, and Clover was trying to help, though whether or not he was actually contributing at all, try as he might, was debatable.  
    Demon Cleaner accidentally kicked Die out from under him. He rolled onto the ground and held his side, eyes shut and mouth opened, crying a soundless scream.  
    "Die!" Eggs cried, futilely shaking at his bars. He opened his eyes, finding an open maw of teeth just inches away, coming at him in slow motion. He did not have enough time to think. He grabbed the nearest object on the ground and jammed it through Demon Cleaner's tongue. The beast rose up with a booming roar, desperately, futilely attempting to dig at the jagged piece of carapace shell with arms that did not quite reach. And for just a second, out of the corner of his eye, Die thought he saw a piece of the dome disappear.  
    Die leaned up on his elbows, breathing rapidly. He rolled over and got up onto his knees, and looked over at the stalls once again. Now Eggs and Clover were digging under the gate with their fingers. He stood, a dizzy-spell taking him momentarily. Then his eyes fell on the Dersites maintaining the dome. One of them seemed half-asleep, using just one hand to maintain his part.  
    Demon Cleaner was not out of commission yet. Die took in a deep breath, and started running.  
    He was far too out of shape for this, far too weak, and he could have sworn he felt Demon Cleaner' breath down his neck. But he needn't run for long, just enough to....  
    He hit the edge of the arena, resting his forehead against the shadowy dome. It was not completely solid but somewhat viscous, though somehow still impregnable. It was also surprisingly cool to the touch, and would be relaxing if not for the dinosaur chasing him. On the ledge behind the barrier was a short, sleepy-looking Dersite, and a very familiar one at that: Clubs Deuce. Indeed, he was falling asleep, and Die's arrival did nothing to perk him up. Die turned, and there was that familiar mouthfull of teeth come to greet him, and that jag of carapace jutting from his tongue. Die gulped hard, reached in, and pulled it out at a painful angle.  
    Demon Cleaner shot up with another deafening roar. Deuce was jolted out of his daze and onto his back, and his portion of the barrier fizzled into nothing. Demon Cleaner then decided to step into the stands.  
    The audience, and remaining mages, scattered like insects as Demon Cleaner explored and popped like meat candy whomever he could catch. Fully awake, for the moment at least, Deuce created a purple circle around himself and disappeared as Demon Cleaner started making a move for him.  
    Die simply collapsed right there, his vision fading from some combination of exertion, the new pain in his side, and various other things. The Dersite Hatchet, jumping down from the stands, did not allow him to rest just yet. He took him by the collar and dragged him away from the carnage, closer to the center of the arena.  
    "But I-I-I w-won," Die quietly pleaded.  
    "Oh, you'll wish you didn't," the man spat, aiming his axe like a handgun. "You know how much money you just cost me you piece of shit?" As he started to black out, he heard Clover's voice calling out for him.  
    Clover squeezed under the gate and ran at them, charging into the Hatchet's knee, forcing him to buckle and fall. The man's axe went off with a boom, sending a bullet into the feeding Demon Cleaner' side.  
    He had eaten just enough of the audience and his captors to no longer be on the edge of death, but not enough to not find the large Dersite appealing, particularly compared to tiny Clover and skinny Die.  
    Futilely, the Hatchet tried to subdue Demon Cleaner with shadow magic, but he was not as adept as the mages who dedicated themselves completely to it, and the comparitivley puny handgunaxe did nothing but agitate it. He started to run, but he was not quick enough.  
    Finally sated, Demon Cleaner lazily climbed over the stands, and out of the arena. Clover crawled to Die's side, shouting at and shaking him. Then more men came for them and easily subdued Clover with both magic and force, much more than necessary. Like Deuce had before, a dark ring formed under them, and they teleported away, leaving Eggs more or less alone.  
  
 The Arena of Agony had more starved, carnivorous dinosaurs, handlers, and surviving gamblers. After an hour of reorganizing, the show would continue, and Eggs expected that he would be next. But the fiasco with the last Felt that was put through the game had soured the men in charge on the idea, at least for a little while. Two men he did not recognize stood outside his stall, conversing amongst themselves as if Eggs did not hear. In parts, he did not, but not for lack of trying to pay attention. He was sure the dust was messing with his head. He thought he saw a falling star at one point. He wished he could go home.  
    They skipped Eggs and sent out the cashier. The event went smoothly.  
  
    Clover awoke in complete darkness, sore all over. He was not sure what happened, and had no idea where he was. Memories returned to him slowly, but surely. He groped around blindly, finding himself in a small, cold, stone cell.  
    "Eggs?" Clover tentatively said, "Die?"  
    "I'm here," Die replied from the other side of the wall. The sound of his voice, strained as it was, was a large weight lifted off of Clover's chest.  
    "Die! Oh shit, are you okay?"  
    "M... more or less."  
    "What's that s'posed to mean? Did you get hurt bad? Oh, damn, that thing kicked you, didn't it?"  
    "Th-that hurts too, a-a-a lot, but... ohh, Clover."  
    "What?"  
    "You... you, back there... thank you."  
    "Oh, that," Clover said. "Hey, you're my friend, y'know? We're friends, ain't we?"  
    "Are we?"  
    "I think so!"  
    "O-oh. ...I'm glad," he said sincerely.  
    "So," Clover asked again, "are you okay?"  
    "...no."  
    There was a long, expectant pause. Clover waited for him to elaborate, but not long. "...Die?"  
    "Y... yes?"  
    "Anymore detail than that?"  
    "It, it, wasn't just the dinosaur, Clover. It just made things... a little... worse. But... I don't w-want to bother you with-"  
    "Bother me! What else can we do but talk, huh?"  
    "Are you sure?"  
    Clover groaned with annoyance. "Uh, yeah, I'm pretty sure there's nothing else to do. There's nothing-" his hand brushed something soft, and that thing immediately pulled back. Clover felt the spot further, discovering a small hole.  
    "Wh-what was that?"  
    "Was that you? There's a hole here."  
    After a moment, Die confirmed it. "Y-yes... I suppose that was me. There is a hole. And, and, um, that's not what I meant."  
    "Huh?"  
    "About the, whether you wanted to hear, not, um... activities... nevermind."  
    The hole, however, not nearly wide enough for even Clover to squeeze through. Little bits of stone fell away as they attempted to widen it with their hands, but they soon confirmed that was no way they could make much of a dent like this.  
    "So, yeah," Clover continued, giving up on the hole. He sat back against the wall. "Like I said! We got nothing else to do. Talk to me. Yeah, I'm sure I wanna hear."  
    "Okay," Die somberly said. "Okay... um... I um... I had this, sickness, Clover. Before I joined the Felt. As I aged... it progressed. It was... getting bad. I thought I was going to... d-die. And then I was offered, this. An escape, and a um, bit of a research opportunity, I thought. But now... I don't know. As long as I-I'm exposed to this stuff, the tachyonite dust stuff and this choker, it'll... god. Today has been... well, you know how it's been. You were there. ...Are there."  
    Clover struggled to find the words to respond to that.  
    "...What'll happen to you?"  
    "Well, um, it never went away. It just... stopped progressing. Insomnia. Lack of appetite. Weakness. Eventually, sleep will be completely impossible while my body will eat away at itself. I-I, I tried to ease it, by making myself lay in a bed at night... it helps, but only a little. And, and then there's the hallucinations, spontaneous fits of rage, seizures, shaking. But it doesn't affect your mind so much, that you aren't aware. No... you know exactly what's happening, and there's no medication or therapy you can take to ease it when it gets that far. Medication often makes it worse.  
    "I know, I've seen it, because, because, it's... genetic. Like a family curse. No doctors had a name for it, so curse seemed to fit well enough. It doesn't always hit. But I showed signs very early on, and... well. When it does hit... we don't live for much longer. And people will take advantage of that-- ohh, um... but, that's going into um... well. Other issues."  
    "Issues," Clover said under his breath, "no kidding, issues." No story he could tell Die would quite measure up to that, he was sure. But, it gave him an idea.  
    "I was always lucky, y'know. Even before this Felt gig. Just, a different kind of luck. The kind of luck where everything good happens to you and nobody else. Especially not people you care about. Like, _'Oh, you lost your best friend in that accident, but you're perfectly okay. You must feel super lucky!'_ Yeah... lucky. And now I've got you and Eggs to worry about, and... Die, give me your hand."  
    "Oh, Clover... w-why?"  
    "Just give me your hand."  
    Die complied, sticking his hand through the hole. Clover's eyes had adjusted slightly to the darkness, enough to barely see it poking through. Clover leaned down and, just briefly, pressed his lips to Die's palm. "I think this'll still work, a little bit. I blew you a couple kisses during that fight, did you see? I mean, it had to have done something! That stunt you pulled with the barrier thing-- I just... don't want nothing more to happen to you."  
    Before Clover could withdraw, Die curled his fingers about the other's small hand, squeezing momentarily. "Die?"  
    He did not answer, nor did he let go, and oh how Clover wished he could see Die, so he could figure out what was going on with him. Clover adjusted his hand so that their fingers rested in each other's palms, yin yang formation, and ruefully, he smiled to himself, figuring maybe Die needed something to hold onto, without that doll, suffering withdrawal. Clover did not mind, either way. That small physical contact was an immense comfort in this dank, freezing cell. He felt Die's thumb affectionately glide over his knuckles, and Clover could not help but blush at that. He knew he would kick himself later, and especially for breaking his self-imposed rule about not kissing Die again, even if most of them were really just imaginary. He revised the rule: _only in case of emergency_. And this seemed just emergency enough.  
     "Die. I snuck a candy bar before we left. I want you to have it."  
    "Not hungry. But thank you."  
    "Yes you are!" Clover shoved the thing between their fingers, squeezing it into Die's palm. "Take it. I didn't even open it yet."  
    "But-"  
    "You said your curse messed up your appetite. You're hungry. You just don't feel it, right?"  
    "Well... yes."  
    "Then take it!"  
    "Okay," Die meekly said, and his fingers curled around the thing and withdrew as he quickly changed hands. Clover heard him unwrap it, then slipped his hand back down into the slit to catch Clover's fingers in his once again. "Th-thanks... sorry."  
    "Shush," he said, just as his stomach loudly protested hunger. Under his breath he muttered, "both of you."  
    "Clover, I... um. I... hope Eggs is okay."  
  
    He was, in fact, still in his arena stall, locked up tight and feeling worse than ever, having watched one by one the rest of the captured "contestants" either be completely slaughtered or fight until they could no longer move (then get slaughtered). There, too, was the occasional hallucination and urge to throw up. Without access to certain facilities, his stall was quite a mess.  
    Eggs had groped about the cleaner parts of the stall, searching for any weakness, any way he could break out. Finding nothing, and unable to climb out, he had resorted to attempting to widen the hole he had made under the gate. Then he heard the sound of footsteps. They were light and quiet, and he could only hear them because the arena was deadly quiet so late at night.  
    "Uhh," Eggs gathered his thoughts, "Who's there?"  
    The silhouette of a small, lean figure covered in a dark tattered cloak and rags appeared in front of the gate. The stranger reached over and grabbed the gate's chain, gaining leverage by propping a leg up against the wall, and pulling the door open. Eggs quickly crawled out, grateful to be out of that cramped, gross space. The rescuer peered into the stall.  
    "Just you? _Shit._ "  
    Eggs affected shock. "Itchy?"  
    He stepped out and gestured at Eggs, _follow_ , and he did, following him into the dark, empty main building, its insides just as ratty as any of the other buildings, although far more care was taken to keep the dust out. If not for the collar, if he had his timer, Eggs figured he could probably use the thing without issue. Itchy stopped at the door of an office.  
    The first thing he noticed was the incoming/outgoing mail boxes. In the outgoing box was his timer, and-  
    "Yes!" Itchy cheered, reaching for Die's voodoo doll, immediately proceeded by a "Fuck!" when the doll refused to work for him. Eggs pocketed his timer.  
    "Itchy! What're you doing?"  
    "Like you'd get it," he snorted. Itchy tucked the doll into his cloak and tugged on Eggs' sleeve, "C'mon, retard, we gotta go."  
    Eggs would reserve his annoyance for later. The fact that the doll did not work for Itchy was confirmation that Die was still alive.  
    Through the city they ran, and into the slums. Unsurprisingly, they were in even worse condition. He recognized this area as the Prospitan slums the moment he saw the derelict, now abandoned, decaying frog church. Itchy pulled him inside.  
    The Derse woman from the bar was waiting for them, flipping through a tattered book. She put it down the moment Itchy and Eggs entered. Her very male voice took Eggs by surprise. "Oh, you only found one of them?" he asked with a disappointed tone.  
    "Yeah, Maggie," Itchy said, tossing him a few coins.  
    "What the hell?" Though he protested, he pocketed the money. "It's not my fault you only got to one of them! I want full payment."  
    "Don't matter! There's only one I want, and," he jabbed Eggs gently in the gut, "this ain't him. Now get lost."  
    Grumbling, he started out the door. "And I told you I hate that nickname. It's _Magdalena_."  
    "Whatever, Maggie."  
    He left in a huff. Eggs plopped down into one of the pews that had not been turned into a fort or a bed or something. Itchy pulled back his hood and sat next to him, and pulled the doll out once more, fiddling with the needles. Something about him was off, and it was not just the difference in wardrobe. Eggs stared at him, trying to figure it out.  
    He was older, this was the first thing that he noticed. He was scarred. His neck was free, unlike Eggs and his companions. And, the most amazing thing: Itchy's hands were perfectly steady.  
    "What're you looking at?" said Itchy, shooting him a look. "Fuck," he sighed, sliding down in his seat. "15 Felt and I get stuck with one of the retards. Why you?"  
    Eggs' mouth twitched. "I'm not dumb! I ain't even _your_ Eggs, I'm way smarter!"  
    "Oh yeah? Say something smart, smarty."  
    "Like what?"  
    "I don't know, an equation or some shit."  
    "I'm not really good at math...."  
    "No shit?"  
    "Shit, fine, uh... E=K...mart... squared."  
    "Jesus," Itchy groaned. "First of all, it's E=MC2, and second I bet you don't even know what it means. Fuck, why did I even ask you for an equation. All you do is piss me off."  
    "I just told you I'm not good at math!"  
    "Whatever. I believe you. You're _smarter_. Not much smarter but it's a damn improvement at least."  
    "Itchy...."  
    "Also, 'course you're not 'my' Eggs. 'My' Eggs and every-goddamn-one-else has been dead for four fucking years," he said, and Eggs' eyes widened with shock. "Didn't you notice the shit in the sky and the fucking dirt everywhere? Oh, wait, it's you. No, you didn't."  
    "I noticed!" Eggs said.  
    "Yeah, right," Itchy said. He put the doll back into his pocket. "Alright, here's the new plan-"  
    "-I didn't know what the old plan was-"  
    "-I'm not waiting around for Die to croak. We're gonna find him and get the fuck out of here."  
    "Uh, okay," Eggs said. "As long as we get Clover, too."  
    "If we find him, he can come, good for him! Alright, since you're sooo smart," Itchy stood and tugged Eggs to a closet in the back room, "you know anything about heavy weaponry?"  
    "...a little?"  
     "I couldn't save much from the old house before they burned it the fuck down, but most of Quarters' weapon stash at least made it out."  
    "Quarts has a weapon stash?"  
    Itchy opened the door. Various, many large, automatic guns slid out from the door like an avalanche, prompting the two to back up. "I didn't even know till I went into his room and found all this shit in his bedroom and closet. You know what a pain in my ass it was to drag all these over here? Not like I could just leave them for Slick to take. I can just barely lift these fucking things. But you-"  
    "Hey, I could lift them, but I dunno how to really, y'know. Use any of these. He taught me about hand guns, mostly. And I kept forgetting to bring them with me so I never really got to use them, 'cept for some target practice."  
    Itchy arced an eyebrow at Eggs, looked him up and down. "You were friends with him or something?"  
    "Yeah. I still am. I mean, he's not dead where I'm from."  
    "So just hand guns? Hand guns, fucking hand guns that you never even used anyway. Shit," Itchy groaned and kicked the pile, setting off a minigun. It blasted holes into the wall, luckily hitting neither Eggs nor Itchy.  
    "Y'know, one thing he did tell me was," Eggs started, "that you should treat every weapon like it's loaded. Itchy."  
    "Shut up."  
    "Now uh, what was that about Slick?"  
    Itchy ignored him. "Alright, fuck it. You got your timer, didn't you?"  
    "And this thing," Eggs pointed to the collar.  
    "Son of a bitch, that's right," Itchy grunted. "You're proving to be real damn worthless, you know that?"  
    "You can't use your power either!"  
    "Yeah, and they still couldn't catch me! Think about _that_ , smarty!"  
    Eggs seriously considered punching Itchy in the face, even going so far to ball his fist, but currently he was his only guide to this bad timeline. Perhaps later.  
    "Get rid of that stupid green suit and put these on," Itchy said, shoving an armfull of black robes into him. "And hide your fucking skin! We're leaving soon as you look not-like-a-Felt-enough."  
    Itchy did not elaborate on where exactly they were going. Several sneaky rides in the backs of trucks later, they came upon the outskirts of the city, where desert traders came to do business. This particular area was uncomfortably close to where the black market was always rumored to be. Itchy showed no fear, and Eggs attempted to mirror this. Itchy brazenly stepped towards the Black Dragon tavern, a place Eggs had heard stories about, where the hardest of desert criminals came to rest.  
    They did not come to get a drink, though. Itchy made a beeline for the motorbikes in front of the bar instead, built with extra large, thick tires for desert travel. Itchy rifled through his pockets, removing a small piece of wire and leaning into a bike. After a moment of tinkering, the bike switched on, and he repeated the process on a second, larger one.  
    "Hey, I don't know how to ride," Eggs warned as Itchy hotwired the bike, by the lights on the storefront.  
    "Well I guess you're gonna learn, huh?" Itchy said. He kicked one of the large tires. "You ain't gonna tip it or nothin'." As an afterthought, he added, "Sure is a lot you don't know, smarty."  
    "Hey!" A massive Dersite in robes and hood, and a proportionally large prostetic gun arm sidestepped through the tavern door. Raising his weapon at Itchy, he shouted, "These assholes are stealing our bikes!"  
    Itchy quickly finished and urged a protesting Eggs onto it. He spat out quick instructions.  
    "Don't shoot you fucking idiot!" he shouted at the Dersite. "You'll hit your bike with that thing!"  
    Realizing this, the man instead stomped towards the two, as the other bar patrons were making their way out. The other owner squeezed through the door and cried out, his voice dwarfed by the Dersite's booming voice. "Then I guess I'll just have to bludgeon your theiving asses!"  
    Itchy hopped onto the other bike. "Go, go go go fucking go!"  
    "Shit, shit shit shit," Eggs groped the bike, momentarily forgetting all that Itchy had just told him before sending his bike full speed ahead, nearly crashing into Itchy's. He got the hang of it soon enough as they rode off into the desert.  
    Eggs blinked rapidly, sand and wind buffeting his face. He had to stop, managing to pull over to a jolting halt that almost knocked him off his seat. Itchy passed and circled back, coming to a gentle stop beside him. Eggs was spitting and coughing and rubbing his eyes.  
    "Should be some goggles in the compartment," Itchy said, digging into it himself. "Aaand... ohh. Shit."  
    "Oh shit? Is that a good oh shit or bad?"  
    "We just stole from the Syndicate."  
    "Oh... that's not good, is it?"  
    "Whatever!" Itchy shrugged, pulling back his hood to put on the goggles he had just dug up. They were equipped with a microphone, curling around his cheek and chin, and headphones built right in. "As long as you get me the fuck out of here, it wont matter. C'mon!" he whined. "The desert is fucking crawling with monsters. Let's go."  
    Eggs lowered a pair of the special goggles onto his eyes, adjusting the microphone and glancing around the colorful desert. "I don't see no monsters."  
    "They'll sneak up on you, even the big fuckers," Itchy warned. "Turn on your mic and let's fucking g-" he paused, seeing something out of the corner of his eye. He cursed quietly.  
    "You saw a monster?" Eggs gasped, looking every which way until he spotted all the headlights-- the army of motorcycles-- coming their way. "Oh. Oh. Yeah, let's go!"  
    The speakers in his goggles screeched and a string of profanities and death threats streamed in from them. "Switch the channel!" Itchy shouted at Eggs, giving him a number, "0413!" He stepped on the gas, and Eggs followed suit. As he did so, he felt around the headgear and found a few small dials, easily spinnable by one finger, one for volume-- the levels showed up digitally on the glass of his goggles, eliciting a quiet _whoa_. The other changed the radio channel. He quickly scrolled through the numbers until pinpointing the channel given.  
     <<I think I got it,>> he said into the mic.  
    <<Grats,>> Itchy dryly said, his voice tinny.  
    <<Itchy? So uh, can I ask you some things? Like, about the dinosaur I saw today? And the magic? And where we're going?>>  
    <<Oh, I'm sorry. Am I wearing a nametag that says Mr. Exposition on it?>>  
    <<Uhh... maybe?>>  
    <<Maybe I should ask you what your deal is. Did you ever think of me, huh? What I must be thinking? So fucking selfish! You're lucky I'm such a damn nice fellow, helping you out->>  
    <<-Hey, wait a minute->>  
    <<-so nicely explaining things to you without _interruption_ ->>  
    <<-Uh->>  
    <<-that tachyonite. It was a meteor, fucking huge meteor. Blew Midnight City a-goddamn-part, just about, it didn't even land anywhere near it. A few of of us even died, right then along with most of the city. Of course, one of them had to be the one with any means of real fucking escape.>>  
    <<...Die?>>  
    <<Fucking creeper lived up to his name, at least. And what did I just say about interrupting? Yeah, damn right you're sorry. Anyway. The travelers that didn't die, the ones that were hunkered down in Kashmir city or the deeper parts of Haven, half of the Felt, the Midnight Crew, the Syndicate, Hatchets and a dozen other gangs, they all traveled out there to find the rock. Guess who got there first? Spades Slick. Spades fuckin' Slick.  
    <<The rock split in half when it hit. You know what was in the middle of it? Ain't no one ever seen that before, super-super-SUPER-concentrated tachyonite. They called it singulanite. We used to call it blackyonite but those Derse bastards get all pissy if they catch you callin' it that. And, yeah, Slick got to it. Gave him some sort of... fucking, powers, or some shit. I don't know, I wasn't there.  
    <<Turns out, those Dersite carapaces have some sort of magical, fucking, affinity or some faggoty bullshit like that to it. Any Dersite that learns to use it can basically do whatever the fuck he wants. And Slick had control of the biggest chunk of it, and decided that the next thing to do was go psycho and kill everyone in sight. Then he came back home and killed even more people.  
    <<What ended up happening was, he took over, most of the surviving gangs got absorbed into the Midnight Crew, some other shit happened, some assholes decided it would be so fucking cool to bring back those useless fossils travelers dig up sometimes to life. See the huge birds flying around out here? Those ain't birds.>>

 

 

_If he was mad at Eggs before, he was even angrier now, but there were far more pressing issues at hand. As long as Die was in danger, what Eggs did hardly mattered.  
    "You're strong!" Clover told Eggs, "pry the bars open or something!"  
    He and Clover shifted and Eggs settled himself into position. He gripped the bars and began to pull. Clover, hardly patient about this, even tried to help. Then they heard Die cry out. Demon Cleaner had found him, kicked him out, and was now pinning him under his foot. Clover could not hear himself screaming out over the now cheering crowd.  
    Something must have clicked in Eggs just then. With a deep grunt, he pulled with all of his body, and the bars bent and snapped. Clover did not think, he acted, and ran out into the arena with Eggs following closely. Demon Cleaner lifted off of Die; Eggs was a far more satiable target.  
    Clover grabbed Die's shoulders, shaking him, shouting at him. He put his head to Die's chest-- he was breathing, at least. Eggs led Demon Cleaner around the arena, taunting him, throwing bits from the ground, although he hardly needed to. Clover got behind Die's head and lifted him by his armpits, and with just a little difficulty, began dragging him towards the broken gate. It always shocked him how light Die really was. That Clover could move him at all was worrying. He kept his head up, watching Eggs lead the dinosaur in wide circles away from them.  
    One of the Dersites let down his part of the shadow barrier just long enough to cast a spell. Clover shouted at Eggs, but he could not react quickly enough. His leg was caught in an invisible snare, sending him face-down into the dirt, and even dragging him backwards a little ways before the spell released.  
    Clover watched with widening eyes as the beast came down on Eggs with those vice-like jaws. Took him by the torso and lifted him and shook him, slammed him into the ground and tore him to chunks as if he were made of putty. It was like a dream, watching this. Something that could not possibly be right.  
    And after throwing back that giant head and swallowing that last bloodied chunk of flesh, Demon Cleaner was still hungry.  
    Clover saw the dinosaur approach, and he was frozen there with Die still unconscious in his arms. Frozen as the monster licked fresh blood from its lips. Then the dust kicked up, though there should be no wind here. It obscurred his vision and engulfed him a moment, and he saw something, a vision, a prophecy, _ something _and as soon as it appeared, the dust and the wind was gone as if it never were. Another hallucination, he realized quickly, but a useful one._  
    _Clover gently let Die down and stood, waving at Demon Cleaner and beckoning him to follow, feeling infinitely foolish but at the same time confident. After all, Eggs had just tried this, but this time, Clover actually had a plan.  
      
    The arena overseers did not find Clover's stunt amusing. Demon Cleaner was loose, several long-time audience members were eaten or injured or otherwise scared off. Clover fought to the best of his ability-- of which he had nearly none, but the Dersite had too good a hold on him. _

_Dreaming, he thought. Just a bad dream._

_  
    "Eggs? Eggs? Eggs!"  
    "C... clover."  
    "...Die? You're okay?"  
      
    It was pitch black, cold. And his insides felt as if they burned, he felt as if he needed to vomit but could not, among so many other things. Die wondered if there was ever a moment when he did not feel some kind of physical discomfort. Apparently not. At least, he was not alone, now. "Clo... ver," he repeated, speaking with audible difficulty. "Where is... Eggs?"  
    "I... think he's dead, I think Eggs is dead," Clover said. "I thought I was dreaming but... oh god, and you... you're not okay, are you? Oh fuck, oh fuck. I should have done something. I should have fucking done something!"  
    "N... nothing you c... could do. Tach... chyon... ite."  
    "Bullshit! I could have... I should have thought it through. I'm lucky. I'm really lucky, I was always lucky! But everyone else around me... if I kissed you again and Eggs for good measure, maybe if I even blew you a kiss, but I didn't think of it. I'm so fucking stupid!"  
    "No. You're not."  
    "Die, please... I'm sorry, Die. I'm so sorry Eggs, I'm sorry for everything."  
    There was silence, and then motion again when Clover found a hole in the wall, connecting their cells. It was small, but the area around it was quite brittle. If they worked together, they could dig at it, and it eventually became just wide enough for Clover to crawl through.  
    Die's eyes, by now, had adjusted just enough to see Clover's features in the darkness, those wide, wet eyes, trembling lips. He reached out with his sleeve to wipe the tears away.  
    Clover carefully crawled into Die's lap and kissed him. "Good luck," he said into his mouth, and Die kissed back, planting many miniature lip touches and flicks of the tongue as they were connected. Clover responded enthusiastically, desperately, sucking on his lips and opening his mouth. It was a pleasant distraction, no, wonderful. Die was happily trapped in Clover's mouth for several minutes. He wanted it to last forever.  
    When finally Clover drew away, he simply rested there warming Die's lap, and allowed him to hold him and caress his face. It was immensely comforting, cathartic. Die felt light and warm and slightly self-conscious and aroused.  
    But the pain still ate at him, almost overpowering his more pleasant emotions, and inside he was certain that Clover's blessing had come too late. He dared to dip his neck and kiss the top of Clover's head.  
    "Better than the doll?" Clover commented, catching Die by surprise. "I'll be your doll," Clover continued, "for now. I don't mind, as long as you don't stick anything in me," and immediately following that sentence, Clover's hand shot to his mouth. "Ohh, shit. That came out all wrong!"  
    Die smiled. Chuckled, even, though it was excruciating to do so and lead to a brief but violent coughing fit that he directed to his side. Clover sat up.  
    "Oh shit. Die-"  
    "I... I... I'm okay," he whispered. Clover set his face into Die's chest, muffling a curt sob. "D... don't cry."  
    "I'll do what I want. I want to cry. So just shut up and let me."  
    Die scooped Clover up and held him up to his shoulder, touching his Clover's wet cheek with his, and Clover embraced him so much more tightly, tilting his head and kissing Die's cheek several times. "Do you feel any better yet? Is it working?"  
    "...yes," Die said, after a moment's hesitation. It was working, but, "I just... want you to k... know that, I do f... feel ...luckier. Than ever b-before. Just... to have you here, with me, right now."  
    Die squeezed Clover gently and shut his eyes._

 

    When Diamonds Droog walked into Spades Slick's room, he never bothered to knock. He stood there at the open door watching Slick make a fool of himself, and though his expression hardly changed, inside, it brought him some form of amusement. With the stomach bug going around, it was a much needed mood lightener. Then Slick noticed Droog standing there, froze up, and immediately dismissed the shadowy scotty dog he had been playing with. " _What_?" he sharply demanded. "I'm busy!"  
    "There was an incident at the arena-"  
    "-what the hell do I care about the arena? Ain't that one of those other gangs' business?"  
    "We _own_ just about every other gang, Slick."  
    "That doesn't mean I gotta fucking babysit them."  
    Droog tapped his fingers against the doorframe. "It might interest you to know that it was Felt that did it. Captured and brought here, just for you. Thoughtful, hm?"  
    This piqued Slick's interest. "Felt, eh? Been a damn while since I killed one of those assholes. I was kinda gettin' to missing it," he said with a sharp grin. "Yeah. Who's on the menu?"  
    Droog told him. Slick already had one of his knives out, playing with it. "Get one in here. Just one for now, don't care who. I wanna savor this." Droog nodded and started out the door. Slick called after him. "And this time fucking knock!"  
  
  
    The door to Die's cell creaked, and light filled it out and burned his eyes. Despite this, he tried to stand and avoid whomever was on the other side of that door, to no avail. Hearts Boxcars snatched him by the shoulder and dragged him out onto the stone floor outside, into the dungeonesque hall with an obsessively card suit motif. He stood him up. Clover could be heard shouting from his room.  
    "Die? Die?!"  
    "Now that ain't a nice thing to say to someone," Boxcars said. He started down the hall, effortlessly taking the struggling, whimpering Die by the arm. "C'mon, runt."  
    "Wh-where are we going?" he asked.  
    "Boss wants to shank ya dead, for old time's sake."  
    "P-p-please, no-"  
    "Quit your cryin' and take it like a man. You're a man, ain't ya? ...Or do you got some kinda weird-ass alien genders thing going on?"  
    "I, um... no, but-"  
    Boxcars stopped and pulled Die in front of him, never losing his firm grip. He flashed his teeth in a disapproving sneer.  "Damn, you really _are_ cryin'. No wonder you was dead so quick. Always runnin' away with that damn girl's doll. It's embarassin'."  
    "Y... _you're_ embarrassed?"  
    "You're givin' men in general a bad name! And you can't give me no differein' cultural excuse bullshit about it either. We all remember Crowbar."  
    Die avoided Boxcars' eyes, tried to turn away but he would not let him. "Crowbar w... is... something special," he mumbled.  
    "So you _are_ a girl," he said with a cheeky smile.  
    "I am not!" Die said, his eyes snapping into Boxcars' suddenly and intensely. "And it's not a _girl doll_ , it's a _voodoo doll_! I don't dress it up or play pretend with it, I just, I, I..." he just as easily deflated, and quietly said, "I'm not."      
    His outburst seemed to amuse Boxcars. "Oh, so you got some fire in there, huh? Well, you still ain't no man. What are ya?"  
    "I'm... just, me."  
    "Well, you shouldn't die like some damn baby. Oh, you're gonna die, but you're gonna do it in a way that don't ruin our gender. No more runnin'."  
    "I'm not here to please you," he said in quiet defiance.  
    "It ain't just for me. It's for you," he said, jabbing Die in the chest with his finger. He squeaked with sharp, quick pain-- an echo of his earlier injury. "You beat that big damn lizard and you're gonna ruin the rep you started to build like this? Cryin' and beggin'?"  
    "I... I beat him by running from him...."  
    "Aw damn it," Boxcars grunted. "Now why'd you go and tell me that? Alright, that's it. I'm gonna-"  
    "Boxcars." The two of them looked up. Droog, a hand around his stomach, said, "what the hell are you doing?"  
    "Uh."  
    "Are you giving him a fucking _pep talk_?"  
    Boxcars flared and swiftly backhanded Die's face. He cried out and would have fallen if he were not being held. "Hell no! I'm just tenderizin' him. Y'know, for the stabbin'."      
    Droog sighed and rolled his eyes. He started back down the hall. "Slick's getting impatient. Just get over there or we'll never hear the end of it."  
    "Just cough on him and he'll have somethin' else to bitch about," Boxcars called after him. He then, harshly, whispered to Die, "at least since you're bleedin' now, no one'll see the tears."  
    Die felt his burning face. His palm returned with red streaks. "O-oh. _Thank you_ ," he bitterly said.  
    "That's better," he said, dragging Die once again. "Get angry. Puff out that pathetic thing you call a chest. Stand tall. Look Slick in the eye and call him a pussy before he slices you up."  
  
  
    Clover had heard most of it, muted though it was through those walls. When Die's door was opened the light shone through the hole in the wall, and revealed another one near the ceiling. Clover could not sit there in the dark doing nothing. He found little cracks and footholds that he could climb all the way up into that other hole, which was just large enough for him to squeeze through, and drop down into Die's empty cell.  
    He peeked out the open door, and cautiously followed Boxcars and Die through the halls, ducking behind decorative furniture and alcoves along the way.  He talked to him, tried to encourage him, and Die simply muttered quietly in response. The two of them eventually came to a stop before a door with a spade painted on: a symbol they all knew too well.  
  Boxcars unceremoniously opened the door-- to Slick screaming at him about knocking-- and tossed Die in, stumbling and almost falling. Boxcars said, "now give him hell!" before shuttting the door and propping himself against it. He shook his head to no one in particular, then took out a magazine to idly thumb through.  
  
  
    Slick's annoyance quickly dissipated when his focus shifted on Die. He dismissed his shadow magic doppelganger of Snowman and casually retrieved a shortsword from his drawer. "Good to see ya again," he said, taking a conversational tone. "No shell to cut through. Hot knife through butter, see, real nice and easy. I remember," he said dreamily. "Oh, are you crying?"  
    "Sh-shut up," Die whispered, clenching his fists against the wall. He was scared out of his mind, crying involuntarily. But he thought of Clover, sitting in his cell, and Eggs, wherever he was. For once, he thought, maybe, he had a reason to fight back. At least a little bit. Boxcars did have a bit of a point, he reluctantly admitted.  
    "What did you just tell me? _Shut up?_ " Slick said. Die took him by surprise and jumped him, his hands wrapping around Slick's sword arm. He laughed, "did baby finally trade his cunt in for a pair of balls? " Die pushed his arm to the side and managed to knock him off-balance, temporarily wiping that smile off of his face. He was taller than Slick, but not particularly strong, evident as he was effortlessly taken down with. Slick rolled and snatched Die's neck with one hand, constricting it tightly, his carapaced fingers digging in painfully. Die gasped for air as Slick rested his knees on Die's chest, raising that sword. Die flinched. _Sorry_....  
    But the blade did not come down on him. Instead, Slick dropped it to the side, and released his grip to clench his chest. "F-f-ffuck," he cried out, "not now, not fucking n-o-ww."  
    His carapace seemed to shudder, ripple like liquid. It shone iridescently, purple, green, yellow, blue. He became transparent, blinked, then faded, his substance completely disappearing like an illusion. Wide-eyed, Die rolled and stood and dashed to the door. It was not locked, but something was blocking it. He snatched Slick's sword and ran to the other side of the room, tossing it out of the black-curtained window. Die looked through it, gasped, and backed away. There would be no escaping this way.  
    Slick faded back in and tried to stand, but was caught by another spasm and brought back down to the floor. Die stared at Slick, his liquid black carapace still reflecting some familiar rainbow of colors. Red, maroon, orange. His curses and body randomly sped up, slowed down, faded, flashed away and returned, angrier than ever.  
    Under his breath, Die uttered a quiet: _"what... the... fuck."_  
  
  
    Clover crouched behind a decorative plant, watching Boxcars. His heart fell the moment he threw Die in that room. It was certain death, and he could only pray that the little bit of luck he tried to pass on had done _something_ for him.  
    He thought, well, _fuck it_. Clover brazenly emerged from his hiding place and waved at Boxcars. "Helloo!"  
    He looked up from his magazine. "Aw shit," he said, closing the book. But instead of coming after him, he removed a small black object from his pocket and animated it with a minor shadow magic spell. It unglowed and hovered there in his hand as he spoke some sort of codeword into it. In moments, a horde of gangsters, ranging from Hatchets to Black Knights to some he did not even recognize, had teleported in.  
    "Aw. Shit."  
    Clover made a run for it, but did not get far before one of them captured him. Of course, it had to be Droog. He shoed the other gangsters away, and most of them backed off. Most of them looked a tad ill, and Droog did not seem much better. Clover wondered if he could take advantage of this, somehow.  
    "It does not take fifty men to catch this one anymore," Droog scolded Boxcars.  
    Boxcars shrugged and opened his magazine back up. Droog groaned at him and pinned Clover to the ground with his knee. Clover's breath caught in his throat when he heard a weapon being loaded.  
    "Hey," Boxcars said, "He was yellin' at you already for bein' sick, you want him yellin' at you for this on top of that? Boss ain't gonna like this."  
    "He doesn't like a lot of things," Droog said.  
    "Oh come on!" Clover laughed, "C'mon, you know me, Droogsy. We've been through this before!"  
    "Yes, we know, you're lucky. But,  are you made of _good_ luck, or _bad_ luck?" Clover felt cold steel pressed against the back of his head. "Let's find out."  
    One of the gangsters stepped forward and asked, "can _I_ shoot him? I always wanted to-"  
His answer came in the form of a bullet to the face. He was dead before hitting the floor.  
    "Tell Slick," Droog said to Boxcars, "that _he_ killed Clover."  
    There was a flash of light, and a moment of confusion. Clover did not see, but Droog did and shifted, then cried out with pain and stumbled off of his captive. The little Felt stood and looked at his rescuer, then did a double take. "No way," he whispered as the other took him by the hand and ran him down the hall, finding a hiding place in the stairway. The last thing he heard was Droog shouting orders at the remaining gangsters.  
    In that stairway, Clover's mirror image sat opposite of him. He was worn, tired. A freshly bloodied knife rested at his side, and under one arm was Die's voodoo doll. Clover eyed him curiously. "What's going on here?"  
    "It's a really long story," the other said. Clover-2 placed his hands on Clover's shoulders, shaking him gently. "Is Die still alive?"  
    "What? I don't know," Clover said. "Last I saw, Big n' Scary threw him into Slick's room. That was a few minutes ago." Clover-2's eyes began to well up, though he tried to hold back. Clover said, "hey, come on! He's prolly okay. I gave him a kiss before Boxcars dragged him off. He's fine-- wait... why exactly do you have that doll?"  
    Clover sniffled, wiping his eyes with his arm. "I fucked up bad. Jinxed everything...."  
    He couldn't continue. He curled up, head resting against his knees, small, quiet sobs hiccuping out. The other Clover froze, so many things running through his mind. _What the hell_ being his most prominent thought. He reached over and wrapped his arms about his doppelganger in an attempt to comfort him.  
    "So, uh, jinx, you're here to save _my_ Die? Why?"  
    "I just wanted to see him again," Clover-2 said. "We're sorta from the same timeline, but I just said-- I messed up, and... mine's gone, and never coming back. I don't wanna just _see_ him again, that'd be easy. I want to _talk_ to him. The one that _I_ at least kinda know, if you know what I mean. Ugh, damn it, stupid time travel bullshit!" he cried out. "It's... not gonna be _my_ Die. It'll never be him, I know that. But I thought I'd feel a lot better if I, well... at least got close."  
  
  
    With Eggs following, Itchy turned towards a path running down a dusty canyon. This road was rough and not often used, plenty of rocks and cracks peppering the path, creating quite a bumpy ride. The walls were not too tall; it was a rather long, but short canyon, as far as he could tell. They could quite easily spot the shadows of the Syndycate's reinforcements, flanking them from above. With snipers. Balancing precariously on one of the moving motorbikes, one aimed and fired. The bullet ricocheted off of Itchy's gas tank.  
    <<Fuck, guess they don't care about the bikes anymore. Just stay low!>> Eggs leaned forward, but his size caused him some worry. <<Don't die long enough for us to get to the end of this thing. They're probably not gonna follow us in there.>>  
    <<...is there a good reason why?>>  
    <<Just don't stop when we get there!>>  
    He was luckier than Eggs with the sniper fire. Eggs' cheek had been grazed, and he was pretty sure there was at least a bullet or two lodged in his shoulder and ass. It was moments like this when he really got to appreciate what Stitch had always done for them. Eggs would live, would be more or less fine. He was hardier than most; what he used to lack in smarts he made up for in the ability to take a few bullets. But it still fucking hurt.  
    To "fucking hurt" was not the Syndicate's intention. They intended to kill, and when the sniping proved futile and the end of the path was nearing, they whipped out the automatic weaponry. They aimed at the canyon arch approaching, supporting large, some precariously balanced boulders, and fired at it. The arch began to crumble and fall apart.  
    Itchy hung back, aligning his bike with Eggs'. Before he could finish asking what he was doing, Itchy was standing and jumping and on Eggs' back, clenching his shoulders tightly, painfully. <<Keep going!>> Itchy said. <<Just keep fucking going!>>  
    <<Hell no!>> Eggs shouted, though it was immediately after that that he recalled the first time he found the brake, it was by accident. The rocks tumbled, and seemed to be upon them, when suddenly they stopped.  
    But, not actually. They inched down, lazed down, and Itchy's abandoned bike cruised leisurely at the side, heading towards the colorful canyon wall but not any time soon. The late Syndicate gunfire was suspended in the air or hung off of their weapons in almost suspended animation.  
    Eggs passed the falling rocks into the dark tunnel before them. <<Oh... wow... Itchy! I thought you couldn't do the speedy thing.>> The moment they breached darkness, time returned to its regular pace, and Itchy slackened his grip. <<Itchy? Itchy! Ff, _where's the damn brake_? >>  
    He came to a stop, no easier than the first time, as the sound of the other bike crashing echoed through the walls. The tunnel was refreshingly cool and wide and high; it was only now that he noticed that the canyon had been descending into the ground, becoming deeper. And when he looked up, he also realized that it it was not a tunnel exactly that they had rode into, but the canyon walls arching and coming together. Plenty of cracks and openings in the thin "ceiling" let light bleed through, as if the walls had been forced together and refused to line up properly. Eggs also had a strange feeling in his gut, that something was not right. The air seemed to distort itself in places. He figured it was the dust messing with his head some more. He ignored it, and climbed off the bike to check on Itchy.  
    <<I'm fine! Quit touching me!>> Itchy said, batting Eggs away. But there was something off.  
    <<Holy shit are you bleeding?>>  
    Itchy grabbed at his hood and headgear and tore the goggles off. A little blood drained from the bottoms of the lenses, blood that had leaked through his tear ducts and were now streaming down his cheeks. Itchy spat at the ground-- more blood-- and wiped his face with his sleeve, smearing it. "I said I'm fine," he snapped. "Yeah, I can still use my power, it's just-- hard. Really fucking hard, and it doesn't even always work, and when it does I bleed a little. Whatever. Now get back on the fucking bike! I told you not to stop, dumbass," he cleaned up the lenses with the bottom of his shirt and hastily put the goggles back on. He moved up the seat and revved the engine impatiently, saying, <<Let's go already! C'mon, c'mon c'monn!>>  
    Before Eggs could properly settle himself in his seat, Itchy was off, zooming past the slalom of rocks. As they drove deeper into the tunnel, that disturbance in the air became more and more evident. From the corner of his eye he spotted something moving, something about as fast or faster than they were. He watched them, tiny circularly spinning black ribbons. Flickering, vanishing as if they never were then reappearing. They shone iridescently. It was pretty, and a little creepy.  
    One appeared in front of them before Itchy could swerve to avoid it. It passed through them as a ghost would have. But, as it passed, something changed. Itchy nearly lost control. Eggs felt, and saw, an intersection of every other adjacent timeline.  
    <<What the hell was-?!>>  
    <<-shut up! I know what you're gonna ask! Save it!>>  
    These strange black ribbons continued to touch on them, and something strange happened every time. Time sped up and slowed down. They hopped randomly backwards and forwards. He saw things that should not be, thought he was Biscuits for a moment, felt a sudden jolt of pain cut through his torso and something like hot breath all over him, could have sworn he was female for a second.  
    When finally they emerged from the canyon, Itchy let out a massive sigh of relief.  
    The tunnel opened into a deep, rocky sunder, shaped something like a crater. It was jagged with rising stone and strange structures Eggs could not identify, shaded by the shadow of something massive floating in the sky above. Itchy found a small path zig-zagging narrowly up the face of the sheer cliff, revealing no more of the floating object until they got to the very top.  
    It was a floating castle.  
    The castle was a great monster of ancient stone, with crenelations pointed like sharp fangs. It perched on a deep patch of ground, rocks hanging in mid air mainly about its bottom. The grand ruin, like none other uncovered as yet, at least in Eggs' timeline, was cracked and scuffed and eroded away, but menacing nonetheless. Circling the massive castle were the "birds" Itchy had spoken of: pterosaurs ridden by carapaces. Eggs watched them sail through the air gracefully, as if they carried no burden, taking a moment to allow himself be enthralled by the creatures.  
    He had so many questions just then, but Itchy seemed to be in no mood for them, providing sarcastic remarks faster than real answers.  
    Itchy dug into the compartment of the bike, finding a flare and taking aim near one of the flyers. "I will say this: we're getting up there." With that, he shot the flare.  
    The patroller, after a momentary freak-out, kicked at the side of her mount's neck, directing it towards the attacker. The pterosaur transitioned into a dive, beak poised to impale. The little shadow grew and grew, that bird quickly becoming something more akin to a dragon.  
    Itchy jumped at the last moment, kicking the carapace off of her mount and sending her plummeting to her death into the sunder. He landed neatly on the pterosaur's back. Eggs watched as Itchy spun himself into a forward position and flew off. The pterosaur continued on as if no change of riders had occurred; the transition was that smooth. Itchy did a few loop-de-loops before having the creature land. Eggs gave it wide, respectable berth.  
  The pterosaur did not seem to care that it now had a new owner, like a machine awaiting orders. She was sort of an ugly creature in person, really, like the bastard child of a bat and a bird. She stood tall on all fours, wings folded in, with a whiplike protrusion jutting from its stubby tail. Much of the face and upper neck was covered in unsightly carbuncles and horns. Eggs extended one hand tentatively towards her grotesquely fascinating head, giving her crest a gentle pat.  
    The saddle was situated right behind the creature's neck, with one of the strong straps strung directly through a just-wide-enough pierced hole in her fleshy wings, which stretched from the tip of her longest finger, the pinky, to midway down the tail. Large spikes poked out from her hind legs and light hairs covered her body.  
    "Bet you can't pull that shit off," Itchy gloated.  
    "So, uh," Eggs said, resting his hand on the creature's shoulder, "do I just... ? Can it even carry me?"  
    Itchy reached for a tag on the creature's neck. "Krathoid. Species: lessaloploth, blah blah... Carries... how much do you weigh, smarty?"  
    "I don't know."  
    "Well I guess if we crash, the answer is no," Itchy said. "Get on."  
    Krathoid seemed to manage, crouching momentarily before jumping straight up, spreading those massive wings and gaining air effortlessly. Almost shocking it was, for something so large to take off as if it were no bigger than a sparrow, even with the likes of Eggs encumbering it.  
   The wind drowned out any commentary Itchy might have had to say. Eggs allowed himself to relax a moment and simply take in the sights, enjoy the ride, to whatever extent he could in such a dire situation.  
   They landed behind the castle on the surrounding patch of rugged rock. The wind up here was strong but cooling, and carried little dust. Deeply refreshing. Krathoid, back on all fours, walked to the castle's edge to drink deeply from the moat surrounding it.  
    "Can you swim?" Itchy said, sliding down the saddle. He splashed the water with his hand.  
    "Uh, yeah. Good enough, I guess." Eggs looked down into the murky water, its surface clouded by algae, occupied by little fish and bugs and fuck knows what else. The water was shockingly cold, and his entry had disturbed the filth that had been resting on the bottom, clouding the water. His disguise was heavy and dragged uncomfortably, but he and Itchy could not afford to lose them.  
    Itchy dived to the bottom, feeling about with his hands. Bubbles burst up as he moved something aside. He squeezed Eggs' arm, guiding him down with him into the hidden bottom level, revealing the moat to be far, far deeper than it appeared. It was pitch black except for the one beam of light from whence they had entered, just barely touching the floor far below them. It was deeply unnerving. Itchy squeezed his arm again, startling him.  
    As they swam, Eggs was sure he heard animalistic howling, like a mix of whale song and dinosaur roar. He hoped dearly that it was all in his head. He frowned, knowing it probably was not.  
    On the very bottom of the moat, Itchy pointed out, was a massive, semi-circular opening in the castle's wall, just barely illuminated from the other side. It looked big enough for even Eggs to pass through.  
     _...Big enough for a monster...._  
    Itchy's hand suddenly disappeared from Eggs' arm. Though essentially blind, he shifted his eyes and moved his head, searching. Then, he realized, that there was no tachyonite dust down here.  
    He swam towards the hole. A large blob of shadow came racing towards him from the entrance, almost impaling him on the long horn it sported. He nearly cried out, but held his gasp in, instead using his energy to swim towards, and up through the hole. He breached.  
    Eggs took a deep, wonderful breath, then clumsily clambered up onto the stone ledge of the indoor canal. Itchy had been waiting for him, wringing out his clothing.  
    "Why'd you just take off like that?" Eggs demanded, splashing Itchy angrily.  
    "Because I could," was Itchy's snide response. "'Cause even in places where that shit ain't floating around, it's gotten hard to use my power anymore. So I'm gonna use it whenever I can, while I can, and ain't shit you can do about it!"  
    "I almost got stabbed in the face by a big fish," Eggs bluntly said.  
    "Well sorry," he grunted. "Is that what you want to hear? Sorry? Sorry! There. Let's go."  
    They continued on, wading through the water canals, just as murky as the moat water. He wondered if it was a sewer. _Better not be_.  
    "So, this castle-"  
    "Got exposed when the meteor hit. They just dug it up and dusted it off, and ditched their sewer digs for this one. That's what you were gonna ask, huh? Huh? You're so predictable!"  
    Eggs pouted. "Am not."  
    "Fuck. Fuck."  
    "What now?"  
    "I'm gonna be fucking pissed if you manage to give us away somehow. I bet it'll happen right before we can get to Die."  
    "I'm not gonna give us away! Trace taught me how to... what? Quit looking at me like that."  
    "You can't see my face through this hood!"  
    "Yeah well I don't gotta to know what kinda look you're givin' me!"  
    "Oh yeah? What look am I giving you now?"  
    "I don't... know, uh, are you... sticking your tongue out at me?"  
    "Fuck you! You got lucky. Alright, how 'bout now?"  
    "Um, um, you're winking!"  
    "Bzzt, wrong! Why would I be winking at you?"  
    "I thought we was playing a game!"  
    "That's stupid! Playing a game. Pft." Itchy shook his head. "Hey. How is Trace, anyway? Not retarded, is he? It's not like, you and Biscuits were the smart ones and everyone else-"  
    "No. Everyone else is normal. I'm the weird one."  
    Itchy mumbled, "good."  
    "Good?"  
    "I gotta come home with you, right?" Itchy loudly said. "Or somewhere? Whatever, doesn't matter! As long as it ain't here."  
    Not soon enough, they came upon a ladder that would bring them up onto an empty ledge, though not entirely empty. Above the ledge was a trap door.  
    "Give me a lift," Itchy said. Eggs quietly obliged, bending down to help Itchy up onto his shoulders. Itchy unhitched and slid away the door, revealing the secret passage. He crawled up inside.  
    "Uh, Itchy?"  
     He poked his head through the hole. "What do you want me to do? Lift you up here? Wish you up? What?"  
    "Alright! I get it," Eggs sighed. "I got an idea anyways." He removed the egg timer from his pants pocket and twisted the dial, and waited. And waited. "...Oh."  
    "Good plan. Wish I came up with that."  
    "Shut up! It's gonna do it," Eggs said, scrunching up his face. "If you can use yours, I can use mine."  
    "So, what? You're gonna fucking stare at your egg timer all day? You think that's gonna work?"  
    "Yeah, why not?"  
    "Fifty million sperm and _you_ were the fastest?"  
    "What the hell's that supposed to mean?!"  
    "Look-- jump," Itchy said. "Try jumping. It ain't that far for you. Jump up."  
    Eggs pocketed his timer. "Fine," he said, and made an attempt, his fingers just grazing the edge of the entrance.  
    "Jump! Jump! Jump! C'mon, fatty."  
    "Hey, I'm not fat!"  
    "Fatter than me. Can't even jump. C'mon."  
    "I'm just a little chu-- shut up Itchy! I'm trying! Are you- you're enjoying this, aren't you?"  
    "Who wouldn't enjoy this? C'mon, you almost had it that time! Our ride home's on the line, can't you jump any higher than that?"  
    "You mean my ride home that you're, uh, riding... home with? Me? ...Stop laughing! It's not funny."  
    "It is so fucking funny that you think you're smart enough to talk back at me."  
    "Ahhh! I got it!"  
    "Alright, climb up here."  
    And Eggs froze, his feet dangling just a few inches from the ground. His chest rose and fell dramatically, and the wet, heavy clothing was not helping. "Oh... yeah, I can do that. Sure."  
    Itchy watched him struggle in relative silence, at least for a few minutes. "Okay, now this is just getting sad."  
    "Y'know, you could help."  
    "And risk breaking my back or something? Haha, no."  
    Eggs did make it up. He was exhausted, huffing and puffing and aching, but he was up. Itchy gave him no chance to rest. "C'mon, this way," he gestured. They crawled down the dark, narrow path, single file, for far longer than comfortable. Periodically, they would hear the scrabbling of little claws against stone above their passage and the chittering of rodents. The stone here seemed to be riddled with the critters' little passages, or potholes. Unfortunately, one of those potholes had weakened the surface below them enough for it to crumble and fall apart once Eggs crawled over it, taking Itchy with him. They landed on something soft, and breathing, and apparently unhappy to be landed on.  
    It reared up and snarled with pain. Itchy and Eggs scrambled backwards, Itchy flinging back his cloak to reveal a belt of daggers. He reached for them, but the beast did not attack. It looked very much like a large, scaly wolf with saber teeth and a short, stubby tail. But most notably, it was dressed in a custom-made, pastel sweater and a large, silly tree-shaped hat. Around its neck was a collar, and dangling from it was a little black club.  
    The beast lost interest quickly, curling up and returning to sleep. Eggs and Itchy eased up.  
    "Well, that was fucking uneventful. Let's go, fatty."  
    "What happened to smarty? I liked that one better."  
    They had landed in a cage, among many cages containing a plethora of ancient animals, all of them dressed ridiculously, all of them adorned with a little club collar. It was no mystery to whom these creatures must have belonged to.  
    This cage was easy enough to open. Itchy reached through the bars and undid the latch, leaving it open as a surprise whomever came down here later.  
    Incidentally, someone already _was_ down here. He was a Dersite, dressed in torn yellow rags, his ankle bound to the wall via a long chain. He had been resting on the floor, at the base of a staircase.  
    He stood. "What are you doing here?"  
    "What, the zoo isn't open? Well, shit. Sorry honey," he elbowed Eggs, "looks like we'll have to come back next weekend!"  
    "I know that voice," the Dersite said. "You're Itchy."  
    "You got me confused with some other asshole. Itchy's dead. Name's _Dick Goezinya_."  
    "No, no," the Dersite said, "your voice is a little different- you've aged a bit. But there's no doubt, Itchy. Don't you remember me?"  
    "And you were worried 'bout _me_ blowing our cover?" Eggs whispered to Itchy.  
    "Oh shut up!"  
    Eggs said to the Dersite, "hey, aren't you uh," he placed a hand to his chin, "you're that vigilante, aren't you?"  
    "Was," he said. "I suppose I wasn't vigilante enough. Now I'm stuck down here, languishing, tending to the _zoo_ , as you put it."  
    "Itchy, we should free him. You can pick locks, can't you?"  
    "Yes," he groaned, "but what's in it for me? You know how many times this fucker sent me to jail? Not that many but it still pisses me off thinking about it!"  
    "Hey, I'm the one doing _you_ a favor!"  
    "Yeah whatever, as if you'd just leave me here."  
    "Itchy, come on! Quit being a dick."  
    "Fiiine," Itchy sighed. He got to work on it, mumbling unsavory things all the while.  
    "Thank you," the Dersite tentatively said. Once released, he walked in a little circle and admired his newly freed leg. He moved with a slight limp, and an uncertainty, not knowing where to go next.  
    "I'll help you out," Eggs said. "I'll," he took out his timer once again.  
    "Oh come on," Itchy said, pointing to his neck. "Coll-ar."  Eggs focused hard, took in a deep breath, and turned the dial. Nothing. He tried it again, and again, and again and again. "Eggs, cut it the fuck out! Time's waste..."  
   He tried it one more time. Eggs was suddenly beside himself, with a splitting headache and a little blood to add to the piling problems. Itchy stood there aghast. "...ing. Oh, fuck you! That'll never work for you again in a million years!"  
    Eggs just nearly lost his balance before he literally caught himself. "Sure, Itchy," he said, rubbing his forehead. "I'll take, uhm-"  
    "Just call me AR," the Dersite said.  
    "AR, and," he patted Eggs-2 on the back, "you go with Itchy."  
    "Oh, okay," Eggs-2 said, a little disappointed. "You sure you don't wanna-? I can-"  
    "Nah," Eggs then whispered, "I've sort of had enough of him."  
    "Hey I heard that, asshole!"  
    "I'll meet you back. Say hi to Die and Clover for me."  
    "Well," Itchy said, "I hope you can find your way back without getting caught! Don't fuck it up."      
    "I got this."  
    "Yeah, whatever," Itchy said. "Have fun," he said, tugging on Eggs-2. The two Eggs waved to each other, and Itchy took him up a set of stairs.  
  
  
  
 _The trip back to the moat was uneventful. AR was grateful, but wary, knowing full well that his savior was a gangster. Although, probably the nicest, least-threatening gangster he had ever encountered. He could not shake the feeling that there was something_ else _strange about him, though.  
    "Okay, so we gotta dive down here. Can you swim?"  
    "I've never had to, honestly."  
    "Oh. Well, okay, I'll just," he offered his hand, "help you out then."  
    AR hesitated before accepting it. "Why are you doing this?"  
    Eggs shrugged. "We're on the same side, aren't we? At least, right now."  
    "I suppose. Th... thank you."  
    The swim, however, was not uneventful. Eggs clenched AR close to his chest with one arm and swam frantically as the massive bulk of some leathery flurry of sharp teeth scraped past them._  
    Shit.  
  
  
    The room they entered was painted just as colorfully as the animals' clothing, messy, and full of toys and very real bombs. Also, it was still occupied. Fortunately, the short Dersite was passed out on his bed; Eggs and Itchy's intrusion had not stirred him.  
    Itchy immediately went to one of the disheveled drawers, pulling out a few white pieces of chalk. He tossed one towards Eggs and strolled towards the sleeping Deuce. "Shall we?"  
    "Ohh... yeah, sure."  
    They stepped back to admire their handiwork. Beautiful. Eggs rested his hand against the closest wall. It sunk in, surprising him. There was a secret doorway in here, and secret stairs behind it. "Whoa. What's this go to?"  
    "Uh, shit," Itchy said, "I don't know this one." The two of them looked at each other, then descended the stairway.  
    And were met by a crowbar nearly to the face.  
    In the dim light, there he was, in light leather armor and with skin covered in many horrific scars, his eyes covered by a thin white blindfold, and his weapon, wrapped almost completely in cloth, brandished boldly in their direction.  
    "Crowbar," Eggs gasped. Itchy whispered the name, disbelieving.  
    "...Eggs?" Crowbar muttered, lowering his weapon. "Who's with you?"  
    "Itchy's with me. He told me you were dead!"  
    "Get down here, close the door," Crowbar said and started down the stairs, carefully. There was a small room there, with a table and a few chairs and a small electric lantern, gently pulsing with light. There were several sheets of paper stacked on the table, devoid of writing, filled instead with patterns of poked holes.  
    "I thought _you_ wasdead," Crowbar said solemnly.  
    "I'm not from here," Eggs assured him. "But Itchy is."  
    "I suppose you're not," he said to Eggs. "But... Itchy. Say something, Itchy!"  
    "Crowbar," Itchy answered, his voice wavering. "Fuck, Crowbar...."      
    Itchy lowered his hood to look at him. His eyes were wet, tears gently streaming down his cheeks. It shocked Eggs to see him this way. "I thought I was all alone," Itchy quickly said, "you let me think I was all alone! How dare you! How fucking dare you!" He pushed at Crowbar's chest, ineffectively trying to shove him down. "Four fucking years, I thought you were all dead! Four fucking years! Who else is still alive? Is Doze still kicking around? Where's Trace? Where the fuck is everyone? Is this some kind of joke you've been pulling on me? Haha, nice, you got me! _You_ say something, you son of a bitch! I hate you! I fucking hate you! Say something!"  
    "I didn't fucking know," Crowbar said, keeping his voice level, with some definite difficulty. "I'm just as surprised as you are."  
    "Who else?" Itchy demanded, shoving Crowbar again. He stood solid and held Itchy at an arms length as he tried to attack him again. "Snowman," he said. "Snowman is alive."  
    "S... Snowy? Oh fuck. Fuck. Where the fuck is _she_?"  
    "Doin' a little surveillance for the night. We been working together, finding ways to bring Slick and everything he stands for right the fuck down."  
    "So have I," Itchy snapped. "That's all I've _been_ doing! Helping without either one of us knowin' it! Jesus christ...."  
    "Yeah? So, why ain't we run into each other before, in four years? What've you been up to, exactly?"  
    Itchy laughed ruefully. He tapped the side of his head, indicating his eyes. "Well, I guess I know why _you've_ never seen _me._ You're blind, ain't ya?"  
    "What gave you that idea?" Crowbar dryly said. "I can still 'see' out of my one eye. Just not the same way I used to. Light and shadow. You ain't answered my question, Itchy. What've you been _doing_?"  
    Itchy mumbled. "Oh, you know... usual shit. Swapping out people's uniforms... drawing...."  
    "Are you fucking kidding me," Crowbar said, squinting behind that blindfold. "You've been _helping_ , huh? You been up to the same old bullshit you always was, just you're targeting the enemy instead of your allies this time. Because you have none anymore."  
    "Shut the fuck up! I'm slowing them down," Itchy insisted.  
    "You're being an annoying cunt while Snowy and I poison their food and kill their dinosaurs and swap documents-- y'know, get rid of that plan to build another fucking mayor statue and put some money into rebuilding one of the shelters. And we're gathering singulanite. We _been_ gathering it. Snowy can use the shadow magic."  
    "...You're shitting me?"  
    "She ain't gotten to the level Slick is-- yet--"  
    "What can she do? Can she- have you-" Itchy sputtered, trying to find his words, "-tried to bring anyone back?"  
    Crowbar's mouth fell into a grim frown. "Yeah it... didn't quite work out."  
    "What?" Itchy grabbed his shoulders. "What? Did they come back as zombies or something? It shouldn't be that hard, look at all the dinosaurs they brought back!"  
    Crowbar pushed him off. "Did you ever really see what those poor things are like, brought back from the dead like that? And those are just animals... when you bring back someone intelligent it's- they're not the same. Why do you think they don't bring back soldiers anymore except as fodder? When we brought him back-- It was him, he remembered me, he remembered how he died, everything. And everything was functional, physically, so no, he weren't no _zombie_ , exactly. But, he weren''t _there_. He couldn't feel angry or sad or lust or... anything. He could feel hungry. Sleepy. Those ain't no _emotions_ I know.  
    "The worst part was he _knew_ there was something wrong.  And fuck, we tried, we tried to help him feel, fucking, something. All we did was make it worse. And then, then he j-just, he just fucking...  I... I didn't get to him in time, and... I'm not so sure I would have stopped him if I did.  
    "We're not bringing any more of us back like that. It's just you, me, and Snowy. And," he nodded his head towards Eggs, whom had been standing quietly in the corner, listening intently, "you, if you want to help."  
    Itchy backed away, hiding his face under his hood. "S-sorry," he quickly muttered.  
    "Oh god... yeah, yeah, I'll help." Eggs nodded once. "But now there's, um," he counted quickly in his head, "six of us. We can take this whole thing down together, can't we?"  
    "Six?" Crowbar said.  
    "W-wait," Itchy said, "wait, no. Fuck no. I'm not here to do some _la resistance_ bullshit. You're alive, and Snowman's alive-- let's get out of here together! We're gonna find Die- Eggs' Die is alive too and he's here somewhere, we're gonna-"  
    "No," Crowbar sternly said. "I'm not fucking leaving until I get my revenge. For my friends, for the people I failed to protect, and for my fucking eyes. God knows English ain't done shit about it. Remember him? Where the fuck is he?"  
    "That's... stupid! This is so stupid! You can find your _bestest friends in the whole wide world_ again in another timeline-"  
    "You think I can just replace them like that?"  
    "Replace? They're the same fucking people!"  
    "Is Eggs the same fucking person? This Eggs you found?"  
    "Y-n... no."  
    "I can never replace them. But I can avenge them. You can help me, if you want, or you can fuck off to wherever. But me? I'm staying."

 

Hearts Boxcars looked up from his magazine, a whistle having caught his attention. All that he saw were the press-ganged, milling about and half-heartedly searching for the escaped Felts, nothing out of the ordinary, until he looked down. Near his feet was a large hunk of ham, most likely from the castle kitchen. Twine was wrapped around it and snaking down the hall and around the corner.  
    "I ain't stupid," Boxcars said. "I know what you're doin' and it ain't gonna work on me. I got a little something called-" The ham twitched and hopped an inch backwards. Boxcars bit his lip. "Self ...control. Son of a..."  
    Clover-2, body pressed closely against an alcove, watched and waited for the ham, and the big, grumbling Desite to pass by. He dashed out as soon as they did and made for the spade door. Another, very tall, cloaked Dersite happened by, and took a stand in front of that door the moment they spotted Clover-2. He skidded to a stop.  
    "Hello, Clover."  
    Clover-2, frozen in place, knew that voice. The Dersite leaned over and opened the spade door for him, letting it swing outward. With the door came Die, falling out of the door and crawling away and collapsing. Clover-2 just managed to catch a glimpse of _something_ shining black beyond the entrance, writhing and spasming. A tentacle shot out, oriented on Die. The Dersite slammed the door on it.  
    "Die!" Clover-2 grabbed Die's shoulders, shaking them. He grunted and turned himself over so that hey lay on his back, with Clover-2 hovering over him. _He's alive_. Coated with dried blood, looking pale, chest rapidly rising and falling. But _alive_ and _conscious_. Before Die could say a word, Clover-2 was on him, and he would have stayed there wetting him with kisses if their Dersite helper did not clear her throat, calling their attention.  
    "Get up," said the tall Dersite, starting down the hall, "and follow me. _Quickly_. There will be time for _that_ later."  
    "Is that... ?" Die rolled onto his side and stumbled up, with difficulty, and a brief dizzy spell. They followed her around the next corner, a long hall embellished with card suit tapestries. She lifted one, and cursed under her breath. The wall directly behind it was in a bad state, filled with holes, one of which was still being chewed through. She shooed away the rat and pushed in the stone block that opened the door proper. Little pieces of it crumbled and broke off as it slid into its slot, revealing a long, spiraling stairway ascending into darkness. She kicked the debris into the door, and urgently ushered Die and Clover-2 up there.  
    "Start climbing. There's a saferoom at the top. Sit tight in there and I'll come back for you when it's safer."  
    To Die, Clover-2 said, "Well, guess we should do what the lady says. Not like we got much of a choice, huh?"  
    Once within the low-ceiling stairway, she shut the door and let the tapestry fall, plunging them into darkness. They carefully started up.  
    "There's something, something, different about you," Die said.  
    "That's 'cause I am! Let's just call it timeline shenanigans for now."  
    "F-fair enough." Not too long into their climb, Die, breathing heavily already, said, "I... I'm not sure I can do this." Clover-2 offered his hand. "Then I'll carry you!"  
    "...wh... what?"  
    "I can do it," he assured him. "I mean it, I'll carry you!"  
    "I-b-but-" Clover-2 was already attempting to hoist Die up onto his shoulders. "Clover, don't. Let's just... just... can we sit right here?"  
    They got comfortable there on the steps. As well, their eyes were starting to adjust. Die appeared to be breathing just as hard as when he first tumbled out of that door.  
    "You gonna be okay?"  
    "I-I think so," he said, not meeting the other's gaze. "The kissing helped. Um, th... thank you. For the offer to carry me, I mean. S-sorry I'm so... completely pathetic."  
    "Hey, don't be like that."  
    "I thought for a moment that I could even possibly take on Slick. The only reason I'm still here is because of... god I'm s-s-so fucking _stupid_."  
    "Didn't you hear me?" Clover-2 said. He took Die's face in his hands and gently lifted it. "Clove' told me you took on that _rex_ all by yourself! Now how many people can say that they won in a fight against one? Nobody but you."  
    "T-that was all luck. That was the other you helping me."  
    "No, no no!" Clover-2 said, shaking him. "I helped you, but you did the work! It wasn't my idea to freak out one of the arena guys. You, you, _you_!"  
    "M... maybe...."  
    "Why are you being so stubborn about it?" Clover-2 demanded. "Can't you take a compliment?"  
    "I'm just... n-not much of a man... or a gangster, for that matter."  
    "Now where's this coming from? Just 'cause you needed a little help doesn't mean you're not a man."  
    "So what does, then?"  
    Clover-2 was quiet for a too-long moment. "Um... well, you have a dick!" Despite the dire situation and his apparent insistence on being depressed, Die could not help but crack a smile. Clover-2 did, too.  
    "There you go, smile! Y'know, Die, I missed you," he said, sincerely. "I missed you and that precious smile. I only seen you do it around me or Eggsy but you should do it more often! Then maybe the rest of the gang wont think you're so creepy. You're cute when you smile! There! I said it, cute!"  
    "C-cute? N-n-no."  
    "Y-y-yes!" Clover-2 affectionately said. "Ooh, like that!" Clover-2 tittered. Die shrunk into his seat, happily abashed. Clover-2 sang, " _smile for me! Precious as can be_... hmm I'm gonna have work on that. Seems kinda cheesy, huh?" Die could not find an answer to that one, not with words, anyway. "...and, and I bet that your Clover thinks the same," he said, as a more solemn afterthought. "In fact, I know yours does! We're the same people, ain't we? More or less?"  
    "Maybe," Die said, warm glee still marking his features. He touched the doll tucked in Clover-2's pocket. "Um, Is this... was it... his? I just, since you said you, you... 'missed' me...."  
    "Oh. Yeah," Clover-2 murmured. "Did... you want to hold it, for a sec? It's yours anyway, kinda."  
    "Th-that's... okay.  
    "You sure?"  
    Die pulled Clover-2 close. "I'm sure."  
    Clover-2 leaned in and gave him a good, tight hug. "Oh. I wish I coulda gotten Eggsy's timer, too."  
    "He...." Die swallowed hard. "Oh god, Eggs."  
    "Mine died... but maybe yours didn't," he said, with genuine hope. "Clove' didn't know what happened to him here, so who knows? He might be out there lookin' for us right now!"  
    Die nodded, though his expression made it clear that he was still not entirely sure. "I... I hope so. I d-don't know what I'd do if something happened... to both of you."  
    "Hey, how do you think I'd feel?" he frowned and said with a slightly wavering voice that he tried so hard to hide, "...losing both of you... twice. D-don't be your namesake for me, okay? In fact, maybe I should call you _Life_ instead."  
    Die grimaced slightly. "That... just doesn't sound right. But, um... I'll try not to die."  
    Clover-2 wrapped his arms around Die's neck and gently pulled him down, finishing the kisses he started. Little pecks became long and deep and passionate, and after a minute, Clover-2 released his grip and said, quietly, "just in case."  
    He got comfortable in Die's lap, whom was rendered completely silent. Clover-2 was content with that, and with Die holding onto him. It was the most peaceful he had felt in what seemed like a long, long time.  
    Eventually, Die spoke. "Um... not that I'm not enjoying your, um, company-- it's wonderful-- but, um... do you know where m-my Clover is?"

    Boxcars caught up with the ham quickly enough. He tugged it and Clover into view, snatching him up. Clover struggled and swiped at the air as Boxcars, licking his lips, brought him to eye level.  
    "Oh, like you're actually gonna eat me. _Me_ ," Clover said, indignantly placing his hands to his chest.  
    "Hey, I gotta at least try," Boxcars said. "I've surprised myself before with what I could eat. You know I ate a five hundred year old fruitcake the other day?"  
    "Wow... seriously? Well, no need to test your eating-things skills today! There's a perfectly good ham right there. It wasn't easy getting it, either."  
    "Yeah, but it can't get up and walk away, now can it? ...I mean, without no string," he said.  
    "Oh yeah? Alright, try it! Try and eat me! You know how many people try and eat me every day? At least two! So c'mon, I dare y-" Boxcars lifted Clover over his mouth, suddenly wide. With this maw of teeth looming under him like a pit of razors, his confidence just briefly faltered. "-oh shit."  
     "Boxy?"  
     Clover's eyes darted up. A little ways down the hall was Clubs Deuce, running down to meet them.  
    "Boxy! Boxy!" Deuce cried. "I had that dream again 'bout the voices in my room! You gotta check under my bed for m- ooh. Is that Clover?" Boxcars' mouth shrunk back to its natural state, much to Clover's relief, as he turned to face the little Dersite.  
    "Deuce. There's uh, something on your face."  
    "What?" Deuce felt his face, smudging off just a little bit of the chalk there. "Did I get it?" Boxcars kneeled down and, with his free hand, used the edge of his shirt to clean up the rest of it.  
    "Hey cut it out," Deuce complained. Boxcars finished up quickly.  
    "We already told ya, kiddo, ain't nothin' we can do 'bout the ghosts. That's what you get when you commit mass genocide. You get fuckin' haunted."  
    "Um," Deuce looked up at Clover, "Weelll, can I ask you somethin' else? You know the cages got under my room?"  
    "You really don't need no more pets, 'specially with what happened with your uh, fuckin', psychotic, whatchacallit... mini-Slicks."  
    "Strawberry said she was sorry!"  
    "Kiddo, they can't talk."  
    "Clover can!" Deuce said. "I bet she'd make a real fun pet, too."  
    "Deu... _she_?" Boxcars squinted at Clover. "You're a _she_? Are you really, or is that just Deuce being Deuce? 'Cause... we all seen how you like to dress up outta uniform sometimes...."      
    Clover shrugged. "Well-"  
    "-Please!" Deuce looked up at Boxcars with a hopeful glint in his eyes.  
    Clover piped in with, "I'm housebroken!" which was met with a warning glare.  
    "Boxxxyyy."  
    Boxcars breathed deeply. He addressed Clover. "You're goddamn lucky I'm such a goddamn gentleman," he frowned. " _Lucky_. Even with the collar, huh?"  
    "Oh yeah," Clover smugly said, "that's kinda my thing, in case you didn't know by now."  
    "So I'm guessin' there's nothin' we can do to you."  
    "Pretty much," Clover said.  
    "Hm. Y'know, Slick claimed to kill the original you. We never found no body... you ain't the same one, are you?"  
    "Your Clover prolly did the smart thing and rode outta town," Clover said.  
    With his free hand, he waggled his finger at Deuce, saying, "Well, I'll let you have your fun, for now. Don't you tell _anyone_ I'm letting you hold onto... h... it."  
    " _It_?" Clover said.  
    "Not even Droog?" Deuce said.  
    "He's an anyone, ain't he?"  
    "Oh, I guess. Okay! Thank you Boxy! I'll take good care of her!"  
    "But you keep it on a leash!" Boxcars insisted. To Clover, he said, "I gotta at least make an effort, y'know."  
    "Yeah, sure," Clover said.  
    "Oh, oh!" Deuce said, digging into his pockets. "I got a leash!"  
    "What?" Clover said. "You just carry a leash around?"  
    "Yeah. Why not?" Deuce said with a toothy smile. Boxcars extended his arm and let him leash Clover. Deuce placed it over the tachyonite collar and locked it with a sprinkle of shadow magic.  
    "Yeah, I guess you never know when you're gonna need to kidnap someone," Clover sighed. Under his breath, he added, "or act out a bondage fantasy." His voice and demeanor was nonchalant, but inside he was a wreck. That incredible life-saving fortune held out once again, but as long as that collar constricted him, something was bound to balance out. His life, for someone else's, possibly someone he happened to care deeply about. Just like it used to be. His stomach rose to this throat just thinking about it.

    Diamonds Droog had quietly retreated back to the castle's small infirmary, a shadow magic bandage applied around his injury, holding and absorbing blood like a transparent sponge. He would have to be careful when dismissing it, lest he ruin his pants even further.  
     Patrollers passed by the large windows lining the left side of the room and let in red-tinted moonlight. Hangmen representing the core Midnight Crew, and some of the press-ganged they saw fit to keep effigies of, dangled in front of those windows. Among the extra effigies were officers, some particularly good cooks, at least one or two paleontologists. Slick's effigy was having issues again, flailing like the ragdoll it was without being touched. It was rather disturbing. Droog might have done something about it, if he knew how. He tore his glance from the thing to examine his own, finding a large rodent perching on his effigy's shoulder. Droog swiftly drew a card and ran a bullet through the rat, hitting also the head of one of the officers' effigies behind it. The hangman burst into a quick flame. _damn disease spreading vermin_. Hitting the officer was unfortunate, but his first priority at the moment was his thigh.  
    He deeply rued Slick's thoughtless murder of Stitch. A good tailor was hard to come by anymore. Just because Midnight City was in a post-apocalyptic state, and their castle was old and often disgusting, did not mean they had to dress like it was. Besides, with Stitch gone, Droog had to learn the ins and outs of his new power all by himself. Not that he spent much time messing around in here, but among other things he hardly knew what he should be doing with that ugly-as-sin coat. Nothing he did to it seemed to affect anything, and it undid itself within the hour anyway. It sat in a chest in the back of the infirmary, so badly decayed now it barely resembled a coat at all, with Lord English no where to be found.  
  
    "So. You in?"  
    How Crowbar managed to have such a piercing stare even through a blindfold was almost frightening. Itchy's expression seemed to indicate that he was thinking about the proposal. He plopped himself down in a chair and tilted it back so that it balanced on its hind legs. "I guess I'm doing whatever the fuck he's doing," he finally said, jutting his thumb out at Eggs. "But as soon as I see my chance, I'm fucking gone."  
    "'Course you are," Crowbar said. "You really ain't changed in all this time, huh."  
    "Nope," Itchy said.  
    "Eggs," Crowbar said, "you don't got one of those collars, do you?"  
    Eggs decided to take a chair as well. He tugged at the cloth around his neck, revealing the collar. "Yeah, I got one. I got my timer too, though! I can... kind of use it. Once."  
    "But if we can get rid of the collar," Crowbar said, "we can stop with the passive sabotage shit and take down Slick with our own little personal army."  
    "Personal army... I dunno," Eggs said. "I mean, it's a good plan and I want to help, 'cept... that sounds like a lot of copies. And it kinda implies a lot of casualties."  
    "I'm sure there will be," Crowbar said. "You can still back out and go back to doing your own thing."  
    "Wh-what? You don't think I can do it?" Eggs said with a hint of panic. "'Cause I can do it! I'm not the same dumb ol' Eggs, I'm-"  
    "-whoa, hey, that ain't what I was saying!" Crowbar said. "We're from completely different timelines. We'd appreciate it, but you got no real reason to help us out, here. Means you got no need to prove yourself, either. That's all I meant."  
    Eggs reddened slightly. "O... oh. Oh, yeah. Sure. Okay. Sorry, I just... uh... nevermind. I'm not doing _anything_ 'til I know for sure my friends are safe, but I still wanna help. For other reasons. 'Cause we're different, but we're still the same or... something," he said, struggling to find the right words and potentially save a little face. "Uh, well, you're like family to me! Like, uh, _extended_ family. Yeah."  
    Itchy rolled his eyes, but said nothing.  
    Said Crowbar, "Extended family. I like that. And I like you a lot better with more 'n half a brain cell. But, you really don't need to overcompensate so much."  
    Eggs bowed his head slightly. "I dunno," he mumbled. "But um, yeah. I like myself better this way, too. It gets a little depressing sometimes, but I'm glad it happened. Um... so! Anyway, how do we get this collar thing off me?"  
    "...magic," Crowbar said. "Snowy can take care of that for you."  
    "So, what? You're just gonna sit here and wait for her?" Itchy said. He took out one of his knives and started playing with it.  
    "That'd be the smart thing to do, I'd think," Crowbar said. "Should be back pretty soon."  
    "Does her power still work?" Eggs said. "Oh, I guess you can't really say, huh?"  
    Crowbar shrugged. "She can still do that phasing thing, sometimes. So we're guessin' there's still a chance she'll take everything with her if she goes. So, Eggs. Tell me about where _you_ come from. Must be an interesting place."  
    Itchy scoffed. "It was the same as it was before the meteor, except he's a smarty-pants for some reason. That's it. Boring."  
    "Itchy," Crowbar said.  
    "It's true. But I don't think it's boring." Eggs said. "I wasn't always like this! Um, how long's it been... maybe a year and a half?"  
    "Really? That recent? Don't sound so boring to me," Crowbar said, leaning forward. "Distract me a while. Let's hear it."  
    "Seriously? Oh, okay, sure. Wellll... guess it started with a game me and Biscuits was playing. I think it was supposed to be... red rover? Maybe? Okay I don't really know what we were doing, but I was trying to cheat at whatever it was and...."  
    Eggs was not an astounding story teller, but he did his best. Itchy feigned disinterest by starting up a game of five finger fillet, but even he became at least a little invested. Not too far into it, Crowbar opened a secret compartment in the floor and shared some stockpiled foods and drink. It was only then that Eggs realized he was absolutely starving, having forgotten that eating was a thing, again. Itchy had an even more voracious appetite. It astounded Eggs how he, and Clover, for that matter, could eat so much and never gain the logical amount of weight.  
    These thoughts passed quickly as he continued to stumble through the last year or so of his life. He was careful to leave out more personal details, such as who exactly he lost his virginity to, no matter how much Itchy pried.  
    "Did you imagine her?" Itchy said. "Was she made of plastic? Did her name end in .jpg?"  
    "No!"  
    "How ugly was she?"  
    "Shut up!"  
     "Was it Biscuits?"  
    Hard as it was not to brag a bit, perhaps he should have omitted that part of the narrative completely.  
    The story passed the time, at least, and soon enough there came the sliding stone sound of the passage opening. Crowbar dashed up the stairs, weapon in hand, and was greeted by a tall, hooded Dersite. She leaned down kiss the top of Crowbar's head. The door shut behind them, and they returned to the room together.  
    "How come she didn't get the welcome weapon like we did?" Itchy demanded.  
    "Because he recognizes me," she said.  
    "He can't fucking see."  
    "Shut the fuck up, Itchy. You have no idea," Crowbar said. She unveiled herself and peeled back the thick layers of clothing obfuscating her real shape, catching surprised stares from both Eggs and Itchy. The fact that she was obviously Snowman was not what caught them off-guard.  
    "Shit, Snowy," Itchy said. "At least your tits are still intact. Well, they look like they might be."  
    "Good to see you too," she said, sitting down on the edge of the table. She whipped out her cigarette holder and a few cigs, offering one to Crowbar. He took it, and she lit both.  
    "Watch your mouth, Itchy," Crowbar said after taking a drag. "I can beat your ass without seeing you. I proved that to you years ago."  
    "Yeah, yeah," Itchy said. "Awful convenient though. You're blind, she's fucking disfigured, haha--AAfuck!" Snowman rubbed the end of her lit cig into his cheek a little deeper, just for good measure, before returning it to her lips. "He went blind _after_ this happened," she said bitterly. Before he could say another word, Snowman intercepted him with, "the next smart comment you make will cost you an eye." He shut his mouth. Before putting away her cigs, she asked Eggs, "smoke?"  
    He hesitated, then reached for it and tucked it in his lips, filter away, "Oh uh, yeah, sure, I do it all the time."  
    "Wrong way," she said. Eggs flipped it around.  
    "Oh-oh yeah! I knew that," he said with an awkward chuckle. "I just forgot s'all. Yeah." As she lit it for him, Itchy dared to ask for one. She quickly put the rest away. "Just ran out."  
    "Bullshit, quit bogarting the fucking sm... aw, fuck it, nevermind," Itchy flicked his wrist and reclined back in his chair, recalling the threat of eye-gouging. She would make good on it, they knew, and without Stitch around....  
    She extended an arm and rested it on Crowbar's shoulders, pulling him closer to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Got my message, Cro?"  
    "Yeah," he said, affectionately brushing his lips against her good cheek.  
    "So," Eggs said uneasily, "you guys are dating?"  
    "Married," he said triumphantly. "I'd say losing my sight was worth it for her."  
    She smiled with a good-hearted _hmph_ , pecked his cheek again and let him go.  
    Itchy said, "you told me you were a lesbian. A _hot_ lie is still a fucking lie."  
    "And you completely believed me," she said. "Now whose fault was that?"  
    "Maybe Crowbar's really a girl," Eggs quietly, jokingly said. It was hard to hide, however, that he was a tad jealous. The fact that half her face seemed to have been ripped off did not discourage him for long. Attraction was more than just a pretty face. The way she swayed those hips when moved, that voice. And though she was clearly resentful about her ruined face, she did not let this development bring her down. In fact, it probably fueled her.  
    And, well, Itchy was right about the rest of her body.  
    "Snowy," Crowbar said, "Eggs here has one of those collars. Think you can work your magic on it?"  
    "We'll see," she said. She gave Eggs a slightly unnerving stare. Something told him she realized he was different, through her power or observation or _something_. He wished that he would have asked alternate Biscuits more about her powers, before they got into that horrendous fight. His thoughts quickly went elsewhere as she slipped off the edge of that table and approached him.  
     Snowman leaned in close and lightly wrapped her fingers around his collar. She was so close, so much closer than he had ever been to her and probably ever will be. And those breasts were right in his face.  Eggs' heart skipped a beat. He nearly lost purchase of his cig. He attempted to discreetly tug his shirt down over his crotch.  
    She said to him, "you're not hiding anything, sweetheart."  
    He tugged his shirt harder. "How 'bout now?"  
    She quietly laughed. Eggs soon heard something crack, and the collar dissipated into its dust components. She blew the dust away and returned to her seat on the table.  
    "Thanks, Snowy," Eggs said, reflexively touching his now bare neck.  
    "Die is somewhere safe," she suddenly said. "And a Clover from a timeline adjacent to yours is with him."  
    Eggs stood to attention, nearly knocking her and the table over. "Is he okay? And what about my Clover?"  
    "Who cares if he's okay!" Itchy said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's just get him, let's gooo. I wanna leave this crapsack timeline yesterday!"  
    Crowbar said, "ain't your call, remember?"  
    "Yeah, yeah, I heard you, revenge this, avenge that," Itchy said, flapping his fingers and thumb like a mouth. "We'll figure somethin' out. Let's just go," he whined.  
    "But is he okay?" Eggs repeated. "Snowy?"  
    Said Snowman, "I don't quite know. He looked rather weak. I left him in the north hall saferoom, the one near Jack's. HB was too close by and I have no idea where DD is. I couldn't risk bringing them back here."  
    "Jack?" Eggs said.  
    "Slick."  
    After making sure all of their disguises were in check, they left the secret room. Clubs Deuce was gone, and his door was open. They exited.  
    The halls were spotted with milling gangsters, resting and conversing instead of doing whatever jobs they may have been assigned with.  Little snippets of conversation drifted by their ears:  
    "They tried to pay me in gum. I like gum, but I can't feed my family with it!" / "You don't have a family."  
    "I don't think it's just some flu bug. I think it's food poisoning." / "No, no, no, impossible! What sadistic bastard would poison _the bacon_?"  
    "No, I didn't sexually harass him! I _sensually_ harassed him."  
    But "that little Felt kid" and "HB" stopped them in their tracks.  
    Eggs approached the duo of Black Knights, doing his best to look casual. "Uh, what happened to, uh, 'that Felt kid'? I mean, he's sp'osed to be lucky, right?"  
    The carapace shrugged. With a sniffle he said, "I dunno man. All the ta... taggy... that merlin shit floating around probably fucked that lucky streak right up."  
    The other said, "or it's gotta at least be making him real uncomfortable."  
      
    A teleportation spell brought Clover to Clubs Deuce's room. As Deuce tied the end of the leash to his bedpost, Clover said: "Look, I was joking when I mentioned the bondage thing! I'm not doing _anything_ with you until you at least buy me dinner. By the way, I'm starving."  
    "What? No!" Deuce said. "It's not like that. I just- I guess maybe it looks kinda weird but it's really not like that!"  
    "Sure, whatever. Got any food? You know if you don't feed your, ahem, 'pets', that's neglect, and that's terrible."  
    "I'll feed you, don't worry! But not 'til we get you all settled in, 'kay? First, we gotta get you all dolled up!"  
    Clover said, "ooh. I don't like where this is going."  
    "Aw, what?" Deuce said. "I know you like to dress up! I got this one outfit-- ohh, it's the bee's knees!" He opened his closet and started burrowing through it.  
    Clover threw out his hands. "Yeah, okay, I do. Just not like-" Deuce pulled out a technicolor dress, a bright pink sombrero topped with a plastic flamingo, and neon yellow bowtie nearly as big as he was, "-that," Clover finished. "Are you serious? You're serious. That's an outfit to you?" He muttered, "what am I sayin'? It's you I'm talking to, 'course it's an outfit to you."  
    "I think it's pretty," Deuce said, slightly dejected.  
    "It's pretty _something_. How does DD even put up with you?"  
    "Well I own you now, so you gotta do what I say!" Deuce said in a matter-of-fact tone.  
    "You don't own me!"  
    "Do too!"  
    "Do not!"  
    "Do too, if you want something to eat." Deuce said.  
    "Ooh. You got mean in this timeline," Clover said, holding up the ridiculous outfit. "No question why you're in the Midnight Crew, now."  
    "Um... thanks?" Deuce said.  
    "Well, I'm not just gonna undress in front of you! I need privacy."  
    "You're awful bossy, for a pet," Deuce said. He untied Clover's leash from the bedpost and tucked the outfit under his arm. "I'll just take you to your new home-sweet-home, then."  
    As they came down the stairs, Deuce noticed immediately that something was off. Strange noises echoed from the back of the dark room, a cage was open, a chain unlocked. From what Clover could see, the open cage reached up to the ceiling; it was low here, and sloped upwards to a rather tall height. Along the walls were more cages, and above them ran large empty shelves and lots more holes.  
    Deuce kneeled down to examine the chain. "What happened to my Animal Reigner?"  
    "Another guy you kidnapped?" Clover said. "And chained up? Without consent?"  
    "Aw, just c'mon," Deuce said, tugging Clover along, down the steps and before the opened cage. There was a gaping wound of stone in the ceiling and debris scattered directly below it. In front of the cage was a nameplate: _Cheddar the Wolfmeister._  
    "Is that my new cage?" Clover said. "First off, it's a mess! Second, you spelled my name completely wrong."  
    "No," Deuce said.  
    "Uh, yeah, it is, and you did. And you got my species wrong, too. I don't even know where you coulda gotten-"  
     "-no, no, I mean that's not your cage! It was Cheddar's, and he's gone and I don't know why!"  
    Clover scoffed. "Really? You don't know why?"  
    "Quit razzin' me," Deuce said. "You don't know Cheddar. He's really lazy. Like, the laziest of lazy things! C'mon!" Deuce yanked Clover's leash, nearly tripping him up, and started down that dark hall. The room only got darker and darker as they proceeded, lit only by the light at the top of the stairs, seeping in from the open door.  
    The animals in the other cages all looked so completely aimless and uninterested. There seemed to have been attempts to remedy this with various toys practically lining some of the cages, all ignored. The creatures lay on their beds, stared into nothing, or paced endlessly. It was rather unsettling, how quiet the animals themselves seemed to be. How 'Cheddar' could be any lazier than some of these creatures was slightly boggling.  
    There were sounds, distinct from Deuce calling Cheddar's name, and from their footsteps. Sounds like odd tapping from, maybe, the tops of the stone shelves, _click clack click clack._ "It's probably just the rats," Deuce said. "There's lots of those."  
    "Sounds awful big for r--!" Clover skipped backwards, having just stepped on something rather mushy, and unidentifiable except as a pile of hair and flesh. He scraped his shoe off on the floor. "Rats?"  
    "Uh oh," Deuce said, shifting his gaze about. "Um, let's keep going."  
  _Clack click clack._  
    The hall of cages was not much longer. Just barely they could make out a large mass at the very end, unmoving. Deuce sighed with relief and ran the final stretch. He stopped abruptly just a few feet away.  
    "Oh... gosh, Cheddar!" Deuce fell beside the creature's body. It was in ruins, that thick hide sliced and gouged as if by blade. Its innards spilled out and the floor around it was sticky with blood. Beyond it, another open cage, empty.  
    " _Gosh_? That's all you got to say about this?" Clover said, unable to move his eyes from the body. He had seen worse, but that did not make this any less disturbing.  
    Deuce sniffled, and it caught Clover off-guard. "I dunno what else to say," he said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Clover leaned forward and read the nameplate on the opened cage. _Beauregard, Sprinkles, and Strawberry Sunrise. Type: Masiakadon._  
    "Masy... aka...." He did not recognize that dinosaur name. He did not know a lot of this strange planet's own dinosaurs, now that he thought of it.  
    Deuce, still on the floor, said, "Been tryin' to get 'swordsman' to catch on for a name-name, for those guys."  
    The _click clack_ sound was a lot louder here. Then came a gentle _clack/thud_ right behind them. They turned.      
    The so-called 'swordsman' was a bipedal dinosaur of size comparable to a large dog, though that was quite big enough from Clover's perspective. It appeared to be a normal, if small and red-streaked, fully-feathered, even downright _fluffy_  dinosaur-- from the neck down. Its long snout was equipped with the most bizarre, slightly serrated teeth. From past the nose tip to lip corner, they jutted out from the sides, somewhat reminiscent of a crocodile. The teeth of the top jaw arced up from the front, giving that half of its face the appearance of a bisected chainsaw. The teeth of the bottom jaw came together to form one knife-esque tooth, protruding like a misplaced horn. Dripping red.       
    Clover felt a surge of severe unease, fluffy or not. Every other prehistoric animal was unceasingly lethargic. Not this one. It gave Clover and Deuce but a moment to prepare as it lunged for the two of them, knife-tooth first.      
    Deuce reacted far quicker than expected, creating a shadow dome between it and them. The swordsman struck wildly at the unglowing barrier with its knife-tooth, marking it with visible streaks that quickly disappeared, like a weak sparkler cutting through the night.  
    "Um, that's Strawberry," Deuce said. "She's kind of a mean one."  
    "No kidding?" Clover said. "What the hell'd you do to piss it off so much?"  
    "I don't know. They weren't so bad when I first brought them back. Just like all the others! But then there was an accident, and they all died. So I brought them back again and... now they're all balled up. They aren't even supposed to be mean ones! They like eating fish, not people."  
    "So even though they're psycho, you kept them, and put them in a low-security cage. Ha! I'd be surprised if it wasn't you."  
    "Aw, okay yeah, they're crazy! But they're still my pets, so I gotta take care of them. Besides, I think deep down, um... at least one of them really loves me."  
    Clover might have thought this endearing, under different circumstances. Clubs Deuce really was not such a bad guy, as far as infamous gangsters went, at least. "Clearly, not this one! Where are the other two?"  
    "The other... uh oh," Deuce said. "I left the doors open, didn't I? And there's all those holes in the walls... boss isn't gonna like this."  
    Clover shuddered. He could not care less about the Midnight Crew, but he had no way of knowing if Clover-2 had successfully gotten to Die. He hoped that Deuce putting the barrier up in time did not count as fortuitous.      
    Another swordsman dropped down without warning, from where they did not know, landing on top of Strawberry and leaving a nasty gash, splattering the dome with blood. It appeared to do nothing but infuriate the dinosaur. They scuffled, fenced with those wild teeth until Strawberry nicked the newcomer's flank, prompting a hasty retreat. Strawberry gave chase, and in seconds they were both gone.  
    "I think that was Sprinkles," Deuce said as he cautiously let down the barrier. The splattered blood dropped down, adding to Cheddar's.  
    "Hey," Clover said, poking him in the shoulder. "Sounds like you'll need a lot of luck to get your, uh, swordsmen back. Y'know, _luck_? But that might be kinda hard with," he pointed at his tachyonite collar, "this thing on."  
    "Oh, I guess so! I can get that off for you lickity-split!" Deuce said. He first removed the leash, undoing the spell that locked, and tossed it aside. Next he placed his hands around Clover's collar. In a few moments, it was dissolved into dust.  
    "Thanks, sucker!" Clover said. He made a run for it, completely giddy and giggling, moving out of Deuce's range before he could register what had just happened.  
    "Oh... aw. I'm gonna get in big trouble, aren't I."  
      
    When finally Spades Slick broke free of his episode, calling him furious would have been a grand understatement. Four-letter anguish filled the hallways. Every individual within earshot scrambled for and fought over prime hiding places.  
    They ducked into an empty corridor. Snowman first did a quick scan around the area, making sure no carapace saw, then pressed the right stone and opened yet another hidden door. The room it led to was comparable to a secret closet, it was so cramped. To Eggs, that he was in tight physical contact with Snowman, made the fact that Itchy was also squished against him worth it.  
    Eggs whispered, "doesn't Slick know about the hiding places in his own castle? What if he finds Die again?"  
    "Trust us, he's safe," Crowbar said.  
    "Jack's far too busy enjoying his powers to explore," Snowman said. "And the other gangsters are far too apathetic."  
    "And so fucking stupid. Fucking. Stupid," Itchy added. "These faggots weren't threatening us when they were their _own_ gangs."  
    "You talk like you was any better," Crowbar said.  
    "I was better!"  
    "No honey, you weren't," Snowman said. Crowbar and Eggs both agreed.  
    "Oh shut up," he did his best to jab Eggs with his shoulder, " _smarty_. First off, you aren't one to talk! Second, you aren't even from here!"  
    Crowbar said, "don't make him any less right."  
    Screaming and crying and begging made up the castle ambiance as those who could not get away quickly enough were slaughtered by the rampaging Slick. As he trimmed away the gang population, he demanded to know where a certain nervous Felt was. It seemed a tad counterproductive, but no one had time nor the balls to explain that to him before being sliced into ribbons.  
    Eggs, Crowbar, Snowman and Itchy were safely away from the exceptionally loud bloodbath. Eggs did trust what the others said. Still, he worried. _Die, Clover, please be safe._

    "-when I tried sleeping pills, it was like... dreaming while perfectly awake, like sleep paralysis but a lot worse-" and came a scream, a familiar shout, "-oh shit, Slick."  
    "I think he's looking for you," Clover-2 said. "I bet you never felt so popular before, huh?"  
    "Clover, please...."  
    "Hey, no worries now, right? Lady luck's finally on your side."  
    "But maybe not Eggs'."  
    "You must really love him, huh?"  
    Die dipped his head. "W-well, u-um, he was the first person to, um, really try to... um, talk to me, help me. A-and, he's the only reason that... we're here, like this. Now um, I-I mean, a lot of bad's come out of it, but I mean, also," he gave Clover-2 an affectionate squeeze, "this, too."  
    Clover-2 squeezed him back. He said, "you're cute when you're nervous, too. Did I tell you that? But... yeah... you couldn't stay too mad at Eggsy for that." he lay his head on Die's shoulder and inhaled deeply.  
    "S-something wrong?"  
    Clover hesitated. "Kinda. I mean, I- I meant all that stuff I said about you! I'm glad we're friends but... thing is, you still have a chance to come home with a Clover and Eggs that both really care about you. But me... I'll be more alone than ever."  
    "Clove'...."  
    "It's okay. As long as I know you guys survived in some timeline and all got back home, breathing, I'll live. I mean, hey I was perfectly fine and happy before you guys roped me into this, right? It'll be just like before," Clover-2 said, his face still planted in Die's shoulder. "I'll be fine," he whimpered, and whimper turned to gentle, involuntary sob. Die rubbed his back and opened his mouth to speak, but a crash and the sound of crumbling stone overtook his voice.  
    "What the fuck is-- another secret passage? How many secret goddamn passages does a castle need?" There was a whimper. "Why'm I even talkin' to you?" and a cry.  
    Clover-2 quickly crawled off of Die's lap and up a step, tugging at his shirt. He whispered, "come on!"  
    Die started up the stairs, on all fours, panicked as footsteps started up behind them. Clover-2 stopped him a moment to kiss him and usher him up before him, mouthing _go ahead go_. Die shook his head. Clover-2 gently shoved him forward.  "C-clove'. Just. Um. I... in case we don't see each other again for s-some reason, I... um... I know we're from different timelines, but it's, you're so close and... um, just want you to know that-" Clover-2 palmed the air in a _spit it out already_ manner. Die whimpered, "I love you," he added quickly, "friend."  
    Clover-2 smiled, encouraged him up again with another push and ran down the steps. He turned the corner, and there Spades Slick was, glistening red with sword in hand. He pointed the weapon at Clover-2's nose.  
    "Oh," Slick said, narrowing his eyes. "It's you." He tilted his head. "Shit, how'd you lose your collar?"  
    "It wouldn'ta helped you if I had one on, anyways!" Clover-2 said. "I'm lucky either way." _More or less_ , he thought. Slick raised his sword to strike him, but the low ceiling ensured that he could not get enough backswing.  
    "Aw, fuck. This ain't luck, you little shit, just bad design! I killed you once, I can do it again!" Slick reached for his cards and shuffled the sword back into the deck.  
    Clover-2 _tsk tsked_ at Slick. "Bullshit! You can't kill me, Slickerdoodle."  
    Slick dropped the cards. "The fuck did you just call me?" Clover-2 made a run for it while he was stunned, dashing between Slick and the wall and making for the hallway. "Fucking--!" Slick clumsily bent down to pick his cards, grabbing a handful and leaving the rest behind as he chased after the little Felt.

    Die reached the top of the stairs. Adrenaline had helped him along, and he was out of breath again. But safe, for the moment. The room up here was small and dark, but his eyes had adjusted just enough to make out a lantern on the floor. There was still a little oil in it. He lit it, revealing the entire medium-sized room. In its center was a messy bed, in the far right corner, a chamber pot and a medium-sized hole high above it. The left side of the room was lined with cabinets, jugs of water and a little table with some bagged-up food, and rat traps. An almost dangerous amount of rat traps.  
    And these strange, faint noises. Possibly the things the traps were meant for.  
    He drank from one of the jugs, and eyed the food. He was not hungry. He never was, and especially not now. But he figured, maybe, he should at least have a piece of bread. He pictured his friends standing here with him and demanding he eat something. He opened up the bag and did so, slowly.  
     He barely tasted it, with all these thoughts swimming through his head. How completely in love he was right now. How completely he hated himself at the moment. Uncomfortable and in pain and slowly dying and pathetically helpless and he was sure adding 'friend' to the end of that last sentence hid nothing _god I can't believe I said that stupid fucking stupid._  
    And now he was here all alone. No doll, no Eggs, no Clover to comfort and distract him. Just a stale piece of bread he had to force himself to eat. The gravity of the situation bubbled up from the back of his mind and attacked it with a bout of crippling anxiety. His breath came short. His chest wanted to explode.  
 _fuck_  
    He thought of Clover kissing him and reassuring him. And there all the nights spent with Eggs listening to him and accepting and even liking him as he was. They did love him. Romantic or platonic or violently platonic, he knew.  
    He could not wrap his mind around the reason _why_. It was all too obvious to him that he was sitting up in this tower like a damsel in distress, waiting to be rescued. Maybe they mistook love for pity. Feeling completely foolish, he tossed the half-eaten piece of bread away in disgust and buried his head in his knees, trying his hardest not to cry.  
    Eventually, he mustered all the resolve he could to stand, the abruptness making his head swim again. Once it was cleared he started searching the cabinets for a weapon, pushing and aside everything in the way, most of it food, some of it more traps that he accidentally triggered in his carelessness. He felt the tears were slightly more justified in this case, at least.  
    In one of the bottom cabinets was a couple of empty revolvers and ammo packs. He fell to his knees and loaded the guns, hands shaking and spilling bullets as he did so.  
    When he finished, he sat against the cabinet with one gun on the floor by his side, and the other in his right hand, resting on his knee. It shook uncontrollably.  
    But at least now, he wont be completely helpless. It was not as comforting as his doll, or as his friends, but it was something.  
He looked up. There was that sound again.  
    _Click clack click_

 

Clover soon became aware of where Strawberry and Sprinkles had run off to: to attack the nearest living thing, screaming and crying and trying and failing to use some shadow magic spell as the swordsmen liberated his innards all over the floor. As Clover cautiously stepped over the lower half of the man's leg, which was not where a leg was supposed to be, he almost felt bad for him; but better some nameless grunt than someone he actually cared for. Then the man, still barely clinging to life, even as the creatures continued to gore him, reached out and grabbed Clover by the leg.  
   "H-hey! Let go!"  
   "Help me," the man said, pulling Clover towards him. Clover fell forward onto his face and struggled to stand again, kicking at the hand clenched around his ankle. "Agh, you little shit!" Clover paused. The collar gone, this was mere annoyance now, and he could not be more grateful.  
    The man passed out. His grip lessoned. At that same moment, one of the swordsmen-- Strawberry? -- shifted its attention and charged at Clover. Reflexively, Clover grabbed at his hat and held it out at the creature's face like some sort of flimsy shield. Strawberry failed to register the bowler-barrier quickly enough and impaled the thing, blocking its view. It stumbled and skidded across the floor, falling in a confused heap. As it tried to right itself and get rid of the hat, and while Sprinkles was still preoccupied with making the man dead, Clover ran.  
   Oh how he missed this! Clover slowed down to a brisk walk once the creatures were out of sight, and tried to remember where to go next.

   Aiming in the general direction of the strange noise, Die whipped his gun about, eyes widening when the small, knife-faced dinosaur landed with a loud  _thud_ and sniffed the air, then looked directly at him. Die's breath caught in his throat. "Shit."  
   It ran at him, unnervingly silent in its approach save for the sound caused by movement. Die cocked the revolver clumsily and raised it, attempting to steady his hand with support from the other and fired, the recoil surprising him. The bullet sailed through its eye and out the back of its skull, killing it before its forward momentum carried it into in Die's lap. Its nerves still kicked violently, legs pumping awkwardly and claws stretching and clenching, though it died instantly.   
   Die dropped the gun on the floor with the other and pushed his hands against the dino. Its jaws widened and snapped suddenly, its grotesque side teeth catching his leg and scratching it. Die heaved and rolled it out of his lap, then checked his leg. It hurt, but would be okay. Knowing full well that it was dead, he shot the thing's head a few more times, just to be extra safe.  
   Pants soaked with the thing's warm blood and brain matter, Die cradled his knees to his chest and locked his eyes on the dinosaur, still convulsing, tail twitching. The despair he had felt earlier was giving way to irritation; he was sick of being attacked. Or maybe just sick of not having a clear escape route anymore, with no other reliable form of defense. He was sure that there was no way he would have made such a perfect shot without Clover. 

   Clover-2 eluded panicking press-ganged, all of which were far more preoccupied with the angry Spades Slick charging towards them, rummaging through all his pockets for his favorite card. He nearly dropped it in his haste, catching it as it changed into his cast-iron horse hitcher, still caked with dried blood from the last time he bludgeoned some unfortunate bastard.  
   But the little shit was fast and full of energy, or enough drive to cover for any lack. Slick was wary of using his power after such a violent episode-- he usually was, for a little while-- but what was the use in having unlimited power if he was not going to use it? Besides, Clover deserved it. Such nicknames are never to be tolerated. Just a small spell, a little test-- and soon, effortlessly he was gliding across the ground, feet just barely touching. A myriad of black translucent tentacles spidered him through the hall. He was catching up.  
   Then the small Felt dived between the legs of Hearts Boxcars, just passing through. Slick's reaction was not quick enough, bouncing him against Boxcars' gut and winding the large man in the process.  
    "Watch where you're fucking going, baby grand," Slick said as he stood and dusted himself off.  
   " _Me?_ Yeah, sure thing boss. But, you first," Boxcars groaned. "Was that Clover?"  
   "Yeah, and you let him get away. Good job, asshole!" Slick slung his weapon over his shoulder and let himself catch his breath.  
   "He was gonna get away anyways," Boxcars said. "Now what's all this yellin' and chasin' about? What'cha got up your ass this time?"  
   "What I 'got up my ass' is a missin' green torso! I think it was a Syndicate that nabbed Die while I was distracted. Must want him for his power or some shit." Slick paused, thinking. "Do we even _have_ any Syndicate working for us?"  
   "I think we got a couple," Boxcars said. "DD would know. He keeps all the records and shit- hey," he said, jabbing his thumb to the side. "Like them." Four Syndicate passed by, pausing just briefly when Boxcars pointed at them. One of them waved sheepishly.  
   Slick narrowed his eyes. "The taller skinnier one looks kinda familiar," he said.  
   "Well if they been workin' for us, they oughta."  
   " _Familiar_ familiar," Slick said.  
   "What's that even _mean_?"  
   "It just means what it means!"  
    Boxcars placed a hand on Slick's shoulder. "I think you've murdered enough people for tonight, boss. Take a break. Ain't no Felt's gonna survive in this place for more 'n a day, anyways. Uh, 'cept Clover. But she's gotta be long gone by now."  
   "Maybe," Slick said. He whined, "but _I_ wanted to kill- she? That little shit's a she now?" he shook his head. "I wanted to kill Die! Shit. That sounds kinda weird when you say it outloud like that, don't it? Kill Die. Die, Die! Looks like you're six-sided _dead_! Oh fuck, I shoulda said that the first time I killed the dumb faggot. That wasn't bad! Damn it, now we _gotta_ find him!"  
   "Boss. Take. A. Break." He got behind Slick and started shoving him towards the kitchen. "I'll cook you up somethin' nice, how 'bout it?"  
   Slick grumbled and cursed, but he let Boxcars lead him. "I want macaroni and liquor."  
   "Uh-huh, sure thing boss."  
   "The kind with the shapes!"  
   "Yep."

   "Jesus fuck, that was close," Itchy said. They had taken a gamble, moving out of their hiding place during that brief moment of quiet. Itchy punched Eggs' shoulder.  
   "Hey! What?"  
   "Did you _need_ to wave at them? Fucking really?"  
   "I was just actin' casual!"  
   "Why don't you put your hands behind your back and whistle a jaunty tune, while you're at it? Jeez it's like Biscuits called in sick and you were his understudy."  
   In unison, the three others said, " **shut up** " and Itchy did, but not without crossing his arms and mumbling unsavory things. They continued on. When they saw the torn down tapestry and the large gaping hole in the wall, there was a worried quiet.  
   "What's the matter?" Crowbar said.  
   "Slick's maintenance guys," Itchy muttered. "Piece of junk castle. I built better ones in the sand when I was still shitting in diapers."  
   "Thanks for the info," Snowman deadpanned.  
   Eggs had pulled down his hood and was already climbing up the steps, calling for Die and Clover. The other three were quickly after him.  
   
   Die perked up, raising his head from his knees.  _Eggs?_ He struggled to his feet, nearly slipping on the pooled blood, and started towards the stairs, choking out that name. _Eggs!_  Everything melted away. He forgot his anger and sadness and let it give way to relieved joy when those two locked eyes. He and Eggs collided gently, Eggs scooping him up off his feet and twirling him about, holding him closely and securely. Die found himself planting little grateful kisses on his cheek, all of his woes momentarily forgotten.  
   "You're alive," Die said frantically, tears running down his cheek but this time happier ones, "you're alive and you came for me you found me! Th-the love twirl might have been a little much, though," Die said, smiling widely. Before burying his head back into Eggs' chest, he added, "but I don't mind."  
   "I always wanted to do that," Eggs said, gently letting him down onto the floor. Still, they held each other. "With a _girl_... but you're fine, too."  
   "Dork," Die affectionately murmured.  
   "Oh, touching," Itchy said. "No wait, what's the opposite of touching? Gross. That's the word I wanted." He stuck out his tongue and pointed a finger down his throat, making crude gagging noises. "Less gay more getting the hell outta here!"  
   Die drew away from Eggs slightly, finally noticing Eggs' companions. His voice soured. "Why is _he_ here?"  
   "You're our ticket home!" Itchy said, cutting between the two. "Give him the doll and shit and get me outta-" Crowbar snatched Itchy by the collar and pulled him back.  
   "Easy, there. You're ruinin' the moment."  
   "That's a moment that needed ruining!"  
   Die took a moment to process the scene. He recognized Snowman, leaning against the far wall and lighting up. The extreme scarring on her otherwise beautiful face was a shock, but he had seen far worse before. He shyly averted his eyes from Crowbar. Was there something wrong with his eyes? Crowbar had very handsome eyes, whenever he would dare to look into them. Deeply unfortunate. But Itchy. Here was Itchy, with no serious disfigurement whatsoever, loud and rude without remorse. The scars he did bear only served to make him more attractive. At least, physically. He always hated admitting that Itchy was not a bad-looking fellow. Just a bad person.  
    _How is that fair?_  
 Die sheepishly looked up at Eggs and said, "Why... is he here?"  
  "You don't like him either, huh?" Eggs whispered. Itchy rolled his eyes. "He's here because he, um... he helped me find you. He rescued me and told me where to go... and... well. He's here."  
   "I'm just a perfect little angel," Itchy grinned.  
   "A perfect little lucifer," Die said evenly.  
   Itchy paced and changed the subject. "Hey, what's with the fucking carcass here? And isn't Clover supposed to be here? Did you _voodoo_ at them or some shit?"  
   "Clover led Slick away," Die said, choosing to ignore that last bit. "Our Clover led Boxcars away too, apparently. I-I don't know anything else, where they are now, any of them. And the dinosaur, well, it attacked me and I, um, was forced to shoot it."  
   "...Nice shot," Eggs murmured.  
    Snowman approached Crowbar, touched his shoulder and kissed his cheek."I'm going out to check the surrounding area."  
   "Be careful," Crowbar said, returning the kiss. She adjusted her disguise and started down the stairs.  
   "Yeah, real nice shot," Itchy said, nudging the corpse with his foot. "Bet it was real rough sneaking up on it in its sleep."  
   Die said, "It attacked me."  
   "You're so full of shit," Itchy said. "Maybe if it was some starved arena thing but look at this fucker-- it was someone's fat pet," he paused and smiled, "You monster."  
   "Cut it out, Itchy," Crowbar said.  
   "Sorry _dad_ ," Itchy said. "You know the Felt doesn't exist anymore, right? This is the first time I've even gone by 'Itchy' in years."  
   "What's your new name, then? Douchebag Dan?"  
   "Ha. Fuck. I don't know," Itchy said. "I guess that doesn't matter."  
   "Then shut up," Crowbar said.  
   "There you go, trying to boss me around again!" Itchy said. "You cut it out!"  
   "You weren't ever obligated to do anything," Crowbar said. "You can fuck off any time and I wouldn't be too sad."  
   "I think I will fuck off, thanks," Itchy said. He grabbed Die by the shoulder. "Get me outta here. Just drop me off wherever, I don't give a fuck. You can come right back and help out your boytoy. Hey, Snowy-!"  
   Die wrested away from him. "No."  
  "The fuck do you mean, 'no'? Take me home! I've been waiting years to get out of this hellhole, did you know that? I know you don't like me. I don't like you either! So the sooner you take me back, the sooner you'll be rid of me! You don't even need to take me to your own timeline. Let's go!"  
   "It's not _your home,_ for one thing," Die said. "No, I'm certainly not taking you back to my own timeline. One Itchy is enough. _And_ , and I'm not risking getting _s-stuck_ alone with you in some other timeline. So for now _, back off_ ," he hissed. As an afterthought, he added, "please."  
   "Alright, killer," Itchy said, backing away and raising his hands. They quickly were back in his pockets. "Have it your way. Or," he drew out a knife, "maybe I could just get rid of the middle-man and-"  
   Eggs snatched Itchy's arm, firmly, not enough to hurt. "How 'bout no?"  
   "Shit! I was _joking_!" Itchy said, pulling back. On the way to freeing his arm, he unintentionally cut into Eggs' palm. He drew back with a short yelp and clutched his dripping hand, and Itchy spat out an apology that did not sound entirely sincere. Die flared and raised his fist. Amused, Itchy let him strike, not expecting it to hurt nearly as much as it did when Die made contact with his gut, winding him. "-fuck. What the-" Then Itchy felt cold steel pressed to his head. A gun. He cut his sentence short. Die lowered it slowly, then turned his attention to Eggs, pulling him to the cabinets, where he started searching for a first aid kit that he had bypassed earlier.  
   "Die, I'll be okay! Thanks but it's not that bad."  
   "No, no, it's in here, I know it is."  
   Crowbar confronted Itchy. "You gonna apologize now?"  
   "I apologized already," Itchy said, hunched over and still catching his breath. "I thought blind people had better hearing than that."  
   Crowbar grimaced. "And I thought you'd learn by now that opening your mouth tends to get your ass kicked."  
   Die listened anxiously, his eyes focused on Eggs' tensed-up hand as he tended to his wound. He whispered, "You agreed to take him back with us? I just-- I can't-- why? God I should have shot him. Why didn't I shoot him? I'll-- I'll shoot him right now," Die said reaching for his gun, but his hands trembled, and his luck-- he was sure it was dry by now. He would not risk hitting Crowbar.  
   Eggs only shook his head, saying, "Don't shoot him. Not... yet. He's a dick but he's been a helpful dick, at least." Die sighed deeply. Eggs' kindness was something he really loved about him, but there was a such thing as being _too_ nice. Especially to people whom did not particularly deserve it. "Do you really hate him that much? He's not exactly the same Itchy."  
   "He-- he, this just... it's been a long day," Die said.  
   Itchy spread his arms. "What? You want a piece of me too, bossman? Which you never really were, by the way. You were just subbing for the _real_ boss, the one that bailed on us. Not that I blame him. Hell, I'd bail on us too if I had to lead a bunch of fuckups like us. And you... ha. You're probably the worst fuckup of us all. Just look what happened."  
   "Itchy," Crowbar said, fists balled, "I'm going to kill you."  
   Itchy laughed. "Yeah, right. Don't make threats you can't keep."  
   "I swear to fucking god-"  
   "Like you'd do it. We're like family, Cro," Itchy smiled.  
   Crowbar surprised him with how swiftly he caught him, dropped his crowbar and constricted a hand around his neck and took him to the floor. "You stopped being family a long fucking time ago."  
   "Oh, when?" Itchy said, prying at Crowbar's fingers, still managing to talk shit with Crowbar right on him. "You still pissed about that time I replaced your crowbar with a live snake? Jeez, learn to take a joke. Wasn't even that poisono-urk!"  
   Crowbar's grip tightened. "I'm still pissed about that time you tried to defect to the Midnight Crew. You think I forgot?"  
   "Fuck you. I wanted to live."  
   This took Die and Eggs aback, although given a second to sink in, Die found that he somehow was not surprised. Eggs said, "You... seriously?"  
   "I wanted to live," Itchy repeated gravely.  
   Crowbar backhanded him. "This was your second chance. I might give you another if you at least apologize."  
   "You people just love acting like you're better than me," Itchy said scathingly. "It's like I was born to make everyone else look better by comparison. Even gangsters. Whatever." His hand crept back down towards his pockets. "Yeah, I'm scum, total scum. I know. You don't gotta rub it in." Crowbar's grip lessoned slightly.  
   "Left--knife!" Eggs called out, though it really sounded as if he was trying to cram a sentence-long warning into a single blurt. Itchy kneed Crowbar and raised his arm, scraping his blade over part of Crowbar's chest and side. Their struggle was fast and harrowing; Crowbar's fist clubbing Itchy's face, then again, and again. He kept his footing somehow and stabbed wildly at Crowbar until he found himself being lifted by the collar. Itchy managed one more cut right across Crowbar's face before being violently introduced to the wall.   
   The cut was shallow, but it freed Crowbar's blindfold. Itchy's eyes, one swelling and blackening, widened. "Fucking shit," he said under his breath. Crowbar knelt down and groped for his crowbar. Itchy saw the opportunity, but his body would not allow him to make a move, even as Crowbar towered over him and lifted his weapon. He struck.   
    At the wall next to him.   
    Itchy laughed.  
   "You missed, brighteyes!"  
   Crowbar grunted with frustration and kicked in the direction of Itchy's voice. The high-pitched cry and the gentle sound of retching told him that he must have hit a very tender area.  
   "Did I get you?" he said.  
   "Yeah," Itchy squeaked, crumpled up in the fetal position, a little vomit dribbling down his chin. "You got me."  
   With that, Crowbar took a step back, and let himself fall into something of a sitting position. They both looked awful, Itchy bruised to hell, Crowbar bleeding profusely. Die panicked and started digging for more bandages.  
   Panting, Crowbar said, "One more thing: don't fucking call me Cro. The only people allowed to use that name are either dead, or married to me."  
   "Tch," Itchy said, trying hard to control his voice. "I wouldn't wanna be either. Keep your dumb nickname."   
  Snowman appeared at the door, a look of concern on her face-- it was strange, on her. "Really now? This couldn't wait? I could hear you two from the halls." She quickly made her way to Crowbar's side. "You're lucky no one else who might have heard seems to care." She checked his wounds. "I'll assume this was Itchy's fault."  
   Itchy snorted at her. She reached over and stabbed him in the shoulder. Itchy's reaction to Crowbar's unmasked face turned out to be a reasonable one, Die and Eggs discovered. Die tried his hardest not to stare, hoping Eggs would follow suit. Snowman took the bandages from his hands. "I'll handle this," she said, almost defensively.  
   Itchy tried to stand, but failed again. He said, his voice a little more subdued, "Fuck. So. What the fuck are we doing?"  
   "We ain't doing shit at the moment," Crowbar said. He sighed deeply. "Damn it.Why couldn't Stitch've survived? It had to be you?" He patted Snowman's knee and quickly added, "no offense. You're doing fine."  
   "I'll punish you later," she said.  
   "We _all_ wish the old man was still alive, okay? Especially me. Right now," Itchy groaned. "Shit. What the fuck kind of man are you that you aim for the fucking jewels?"  
   "I didn't _aim_ for them. _I can't fucking see,_ remember?"  
   Itchy, perhaps ironically, raised a middle finger to him.  
   Eggs said, "Itchy... did you really try to join the Midnight Crew?"  
   "Yeah," Itchy said frankly. He pulled his collar down a bit, exposing one big, old scar. "Slick told me to fuck off, with his sword. Then I tried out a couple other gangs. That went about as well," Itchy scoffed. "Syndicate put me through some bullshit initiation for shits and giggles before leaving me for dead. Those racist Hatchet fucks didn't even try to humor me. The few gangs I did get into kicked me out either when they found out I couldn't use my power anymore, or when they found out that they didn't like me. Assholes. Ended up having to share some shitty falling apart abandoned church with a crossdressing whore."  
   "...I ain't gonna ask," said Crowbar.  
   Eggs said, "Was that guy your friend?"  
   "Fuck no, why would I be friends with a whore? We made a few arrangements. That's it. Not gonna miss him. If he misses me then too fucking bad."  
   Crowbar said, "Itchy? Having friends? Good one."  
   "Fuck you, I had friends," Itchy said. "But since they're mulch now, I guess they don't count anymore, huh? Ha."  
   Die said, "You really don't care about anyone but yourself, do you?"  
   "I care about _you_ ," Itchy said, in a mockingly sweet voice. "You're everything to me right now. You know that, right? I  _need_ you." He dropped the voice and narrowed his eyes. "Literally. I fucking need you."  
   Die shot Itchy a dirty look. He was beyond tired of hearing Itchy's mouth run, and addressed Crowbar. "Clover. You didn't s- um, become... aware of... Clover. On the way up here, I mean. Um. Did you?"  
   "Don't do that," Crowbar said. "Just ask if we seen him like a normal person. You ain't hurting my feelings."  
   "Oh... s-sorry. Did you see Clover?"  
   "We were hoping he was here with you," Eggs said.  
   Itchy sat up a little and wiped the vomit from his chin. His voice was still strained. "This is boring."  
   "Maybe you shouldn't be picking fights," Crowbar spat. "Just sit tight for a few."  
   "Hey you attacked first!" Itchy said.  
    Die flared. "You pulled a knife on me!"  
   "I didn't actually _do_ anything to you, you fucking baby."  
   "You cut my hand," Eggs added quietly.  
   "You survived being shot at by snipers and you're bitching about that?"  
   Snowman groaned and shook her head, mumbling something under her breath.  
   "I can't believe I beat your ass to a bloody pulp and you're _still_ talking shit," Crowbar said."Fuck, you're _still talking period_."  
    Proudly, Itchy said, "Wasn't the first time I'd been kicked in the balls and I can damn well assure you it ain't gonna be the last."  
   "Oh yeah? Knowing you're probably sterile is a load off my mind."  
   "Ha ha. I wouldn't want any damn kids anyway. As if it fucking matters. Only compatible pussy around here is Die. You did good getting with the hot alien babe." He added, "Lost some points for getting hitched, though."  
   How Itchy could sit there completely unperturbed by all the dagger-like glares currently locked onto him was baffling. The dead silence was broken by Snowman as soon as she had finished tending to Crowbar's wounds.  
   "Die. Come here. You still have that collar."  
   "O-oh, you can-- you can take it off of me?" Die said. She nodded and got started. "Oh god, th-thank you. Thank you!" He babbled on, to Itchy's irritation.  
   Itchy said, quieter than Die could hear, "Jesus you'd think the stupid thing was killing him or something."  
   It was then that the stairway filled with noises again. Rapid little footsteps and a duo of the same voice calling Die's name. Mid-sentence he called out to Clover and tried to stand; Snowman stopped and held his shoulders down, and he reluctantly stayed put as she finished up, locking his eyes on the doorway. They both appeared there at once, looking perfectly well and bursting with energy. They never stopped moving, running and lovingly assaulting his legs with hugs.   
   "Hey, get down here!"  
   "I'm not done-" Snowman started. She knelt down with a huff when it became apparent that Die had somehow managed to forget what she was doing.  
   "Eggsy, I see you too! Get over here!" said one of the Clovers. He did, gathering Die and the two Clovers up in one big embrace. Snowman injected an extra burst of effort into her channeling and broke the collar without Die even noticing, and left them to their reunion. It took, from the outside, an uncomfortably long time for them to separate and stand.  
   "Let's go home," Clover said.  
   "Home...." Eggs said. He looked at Snowman, then at Crowbar.  
   "You ain't gotta stay," Crowbar said uneasily.  
   "Yeah, we don't gotta," Itchy said. "We really _really_ don't gotta."  
   "Stay for... what?" Die said. "Did something happen?"  
   Itchy said, "Yeah, no, everything's just peachy."  
   Die ignored that. Both Clovers talked then argued over each other for a moment. One of them won and said, "What'd you promise to do this time, huh Eggsy? Save the world? It's a little late for that!"  
   "No! Well, not exactly," Eggs said.  
   "You're not supposed to be a hero," Clover said, "you're supposed to be a bad guy, remember?"  
   "I know," Eggs said, miffed. "But it's not about that. It's about helping our own guys. Look what happened to them! They're all dead except for, um... well. These guys."  
   Itchy said, "We die all the time! No big loss. Besides, nothing's gonna change if we go through with this rebellion shit. No one's coming back. We're just gonna die while those prick carapaces live goddamn forever and undo anything we try. We need to dump this shithole. Now."  
   "Itchy just, shut the fuck up," Crowbar said, exasperated.  
   "Eggs," Die said, touching Eggs' hand. "I just... honestly, want to go home."  
   "One of you Clovers has a voodoo doll," Snowman commented.  
   "Yeah?" Crowbar said. "Then there should be no problems. Go home, Die. Eggs' meet you there later. Right?"  
   "Sounds good to me," Eggs said. Die nodded, taking both of Eggs' hands in his.  
   "Just, dear god, please... please, do come back."  
   "He will!" Clover-2 said.  
    Eggs squeezed Die's hands. To the other Clover, he said, "Make sure Die gets home safe."   
   "Sure will!"  
   "Great!" Itchy said, rubbing his hands together. "I'll go with!"  
   "I said _no_ ," Die said. "I-I'm not sure, but," he said to Eggs, "I think he's actually worse than the one we have already."  
   "Alright, I'm sorry about the knife thing, for real this time," Itchy said. "There. Is that what you wanted, that apology?" He started towards Die. "Let's-"  
   Eggs blocked the way, a stern look on his face. "He said no."  
   "What the fuck," Itchy said, balling his fists. "You wouldn't be up here with your friends if I didn't help! You'd probably be dead! You owe me."  
   "Yeah well," Eggs said, "you're a dick!"  
   "You promised me!"  
   "I never promised you," Eggs said. "I know you think I'm dumb but I know that I never ever said _I promise_ to you. I'd remember that even if I was! So, just... shut up!"  
   "Fine." Itchy said, spreading his hands and backing away. "Fuck you too."  
   Die quietly thanked him. When Eggs faced him his stern look faded into sad confliction. Clover-2 tugged at Die's pants and beckoned him down. He got up into Die's lap and threw his arms around his neck, giving him a quick kiss.  
   "You'd better take good care of him," Clover-2 said to the second. "Do better than me, okay?"  
   "I will," Clover said.  
   "Can... we have a moment alone?" Clover-2 said. "As alone as we can, I mean! You guys go to the other side of the room or something. Stand in the stairs."  
   Crowbar nodded. "C'mon."

   "I gotta ask," Clover-2 said, "did you mean it, what you said?"  
   "A-a-about what?"  
   "Do you love me?"  
   "I... I do. Yes. Very much, I'm afraid," Die said, twiddling his fingers, eyes averted shyly.  
   "Soo, when did that happen?" Clover-2 said carefully.  
   "In... the dungeon. When you took my hand... I-I think that's... where it s-started."  
   Clover-2 dragged his fingers over Die's, then gripped them. "Like this?"  
   "More, um, more like," he flipped Clover-2's palm over and curled his fingers into his, "this."  
   "Oh. Your hands are really cold, y'know that? Shh, don't apologize. We're fixing it right now!" Clover-2's voice grew mellow. "While you were... dying, of your injury, y'know, and you let me hold you, best I could, your head anyway... well, that's when I realized just how much I liked you," Clover-2 said. "A little late to do much about it. And... that's why I went looking for... you."  
    Die furrowed his brow, mulling that over. Before he could open his mouth to reply, Clover-2 was in it. "I love you too," Clover-2 said between kisses. "Maybe not quite the same way you do. But I think, if we had enough time together, just some normal, quality time, maybe...."  
   "G-g-god, Clover-"  
   "-you're smart and sweet and pretty damn cute when you smile. And know what? You didn't deserve all the stupid awful shit that's happened to you. Didn't deserve to die. Or that weird, what's it called, fatal insomnia. Out of all the people in the world, only a few families have it-- and one of them had to be yours? It couldn't have been Itchy's? It's not fair! Gonna make sure you never run into that sorta nasty luck again."  
   "Thank you," Die murmured, "I-- um, th-thank you."  
   "Keep smiling," Clover-2 said. "Just like that, maybe with less tears."  
   "Why d-don't you just," Die said, "come... back with us? I-I mean, what are you going to... do? After all this?"  
   "It's complicated, I guess," Clover-2 said. "Just knowing that you're okay in some form, somewhere, well, that's all I really wanted. And to kiss and hold you a little more, hehe. But, really, honestly? I think I said already: mine is gone. You're... still him, but not quite. Not sure I can completely get over that. And I must be the same to you, right? You've got a Clover already. Don't get greedy!" Clover-2 teased. "And me, I'll be okay. I got the doll. I can go wherever I want. Maybe I'll even see my own Die and Eggsy again someday, somehow. Who knows with this time shit?"  
     
   Clover and Eggs sat on the stairs not too far from the doorway, listening intently. Itchy was furthest down the steps, sitting with his back turned to the others and fidgeting with his knife, with Crowbar and Snowman between them.  
    Eggs said to Clover, "I didn't know he was sick. Is it bad? ...Clover?"  
   "Wha- oh," Clover said. He was a tad distracted at the moment, a little flustered. "It's-- yeah, it's pretty messed up, but you should probably ask him himself 'bout that. He never told you?"  
   "No-- but, yeah, guess I should ask him then," Eggs said. "He's kind of a private guy... maybe we shouldn't be um... eavesdropping?"  
   Clover said, turning his head to face him, "Isn't Die your boyfriend?"  
   "N- wha- no," Eggs stammered. "Kinda. Not really? I don't know. Where'd you get that idea?"  
   "You really think no one would ever find out you two were sleeping together?" Clover said with a hint of amusement. "Everybody knows!"  
   "Oh... oh," Eggs said, turning a deep red.  
   Crowbar whispered to Snowman. "They know we're standing here, don't they?"

   When they were called back into the room, Die and Clover-2 were standing side-by-side, their hands still entwined.  
   "Everything copacetic over here?" Crowbar said.   
   "Yes. Um, we're ready," Die said. With one last squeeze, they let go, and Clover, almost cautiously, came up to his duplicate and gave him a quick hug.  
   "Thanks for the help, jinx. Good luck and all that!"  
   "Hey, you too," Clover-2 said. "Make sure to give him a nice big kiss before screwing around with that doll again!"  
   "Cl-clove', please," Die said with a nervous chuckle. He then, as an afterthought, touched his neck, and thanked Snowman. "Sorry I didn't, um, thank you earlier. But I really appreciate it. I really, really do," he said. She shrugged.  
   "It's nothing."  
    Eggs initiated one more group hug. It was a good one, a sad one. Then in an instant, Clover and Die were gone. Itchy leaned against the doorway, locked on the space where Die had just been standing. Eggs dared to snatch a look, expecting rage but only finding an empty expression. Then he realized that Itchy had not said a word since that confrontation. It was completely unnerving. He barely noticed Clover-2 climbing up onto his shoulder and perching there.     
   Said Crowbar, "Itchy. Why ain't you left yet? You ain't going anywhere."  
   "He's still here 'cause I'm still here," Clover-2 said, "isn't that right, Bitchy? Looking for a second chance?"  
   Itchy made an aggravated noise and turned his back.  
   "As long as he stays this quiet and out of our way, I couldn't care less what he chooses to do," Snowman said.   
   Crowbar nodded. "Let's start searching the place and get this over with."

    Slick sat at the end of the long, otherwise empty table that was the center piece of the dining room. The place was adorned with all manner of dusty knickknacks, many heart-shaped; Boxcars had essentially made it his own, and no one would contest him on it. Slick did not mind the sickening decor so long as he had food and drink to take his attention from it. While he waited for this distraction, he simply tolerated the hearts, though not without causing a few 'accidents'.  
   Finally, Boxcars set down dinner. Slick was messily at it as soon as it was set down.  
   "You're welcome, _your majesty_ ," Boxcars said.   
   His mouth full, Slick said, "You sure took your sweet fucking time. I just wanted some goddamn macaroni. You didn't have to do all this fancy shit."  
   "I take pride in my work!"  
    Slick was not halfway finished when the doors burst open, the startling sound nearly making him choke. Shadowing the doorway were those familiar-looking Syndicate-- no, intruders, now. Slick stood, his weight supported by his hands on the table. "Who the fuck are y-- is that a crowbar? Crowbar?" Slick snarled. "Fucking _Crowbar_? Is that you? Next you'll tell me the bitch survived, too. Is she the tall one? Wait. Don't tell me. This evening's been ruined enough tonight." Snowman answered with a curt _hmph_.  
    Boxcars said, "Guess we'd better apologize to Deuce, boss."  
   " _Now_ you green motherfuckers show up. I ain't dealing with your shit right now. I wanna eat my fucking pasta."  
   "We're dealing with this _now_ ," Crowbar said in Slick's general direction. "Eggs?"  
   "Aww no," Slick said. "I told you assholes that I'm not doing this right now." A tentacle shot out from his body, snapping sharply at Eggs' hands as he reached for his egg timer. "And I swear to god if you assholes don't leave right now-- after I eat my dinner and maybe take a goddamn nap -- I'm gonna be playing pool with your fucking balls!" He paused. "That-- that wasn't a sex thing! I mean I am going to cut off your balls and knock them around with my horse hitcher. I mean-- shit, that's even worse isn't it. Is Die with you?"  
   "I think they get it, boss."  
   "Fine! Fuck it!" Slick said. Dark energy exploded, propelling the Felts out the door, onto their asses, and pulling back to slam the door shut behind them. Slick faltered, the unglowing energy flickering out during its return as his whole body twitched, violently but quickly. Boxcars caught him as he fell and gently sat him back into his chair. Slick, panting, palmed his forehead and rested a moment.  
   "It's getting real bad, ain't it?" Boxcars said.  
   "Nothing I can't handle."  
   "I ain't sure you _are_ handling it all that well," said Boxcars, taking a seat next to him. "You did let Die go."  
   "I did that on purpose!" Slick spat. "I just, I, I wanted to... aw fuck it." He pushed the plate away. "Lost my appetite. Just going to bed. Maybe jerk off a little. I'll kill them later." He stood on shaky legs and snatched the bottle of whiskey, "If you see Droog, tell him to knock or I'll show him... how. By fucking knocking his skull in," before teleporting away.  
   "Thanks for the... info... boss," Boxcars sighed, and took the seat for himself.

   "Shit. Eggs, get up and try it," Crowbar said, his attempts against the door proving useless. It took Eggs a minute, but he muscled through it, only to find their target missing. Boxcars gave them a forlorn greeting, a half-hearted wave.  
   "He ain't here."  
   "Clearly," Snowman said. Crowbar cursed under his breath.  
   "Been a long time, Snowy," Boxcars said. "Glad to see you really ain't dead. Always kinda had a feeling." Boxcars reached into his pocket and started shuffling his cards. "Can't say I'm too happy to see you still hanging around with the likes of Crowbar, though."  
   "What can I say? He's grown on me."  
   Eggs stayed behind Crowbar and Snowman, as if they could possibly hide him. Even calm, Boxcars made him nervous, but the shuffling of cards was never a good sign, anyway. Eggs whispered, "Sh... should we be fighting or something?"  
   "I'm not really in the mood," Boxcars said. "But," he rolled his shoulders and drew a pair of two-handed battle axes, easily supporting one in each hand, each axe blade tipped with a red metal coat-- tachyonite. "I guess I'd better get in the mood, eh? I let you go once, one of you," Boxcars directed at Clover-2, whom was back on Eggs' shoulder, "and the boss sure as hell ain't gonna let that fly again."  
  He jumped up onto the table with alarming ease, an unglowing aura assisting him, pulsing. Boxcars charged at the group as if shot from a canon, axes raised. Snowman flicked her wrists. Her lance shot out in front of her, sailing up and hovering horizontally to block both the blades as they came down. Crowbar flanked Boxcars and latched onto one of the axe handles with the crook of his crowbar, pulling his arm and the weapon to the side, freeing the business end of the lance. Before she could redirect it into Boxcars' face, a blur dived into the fray with his knives, cutting into Boxcars' front. The big man glowed and jumped backwards-- back onto the table, a little line of blood staining his shirt. Itchy stood panting, blood draining from his orifices, in front of a confounded Snowman and Crowbar.  
   "What the hell was that?" Crowbar harshly whispered. "Itchy?"  
   "Knives, really runt?" Boxcars said. "I'm pals with Spades-Stabby-Slick. You gotta do better than that."  
   "Yeah," Itchy said, the first words he had spoken since getting rejected. With tangible vitriol, he added, "yeah how about I do better straight up your big fat ass." With that, Itchy's wiry muscles bunched up, he grunted and activated his power again, appearing instantly on Boxcars, knives crossed at his throat and a little under the rubbery plates that protected it. He cut under them, along the lines that separated them, loosening and slicing the surface under them, before Boxcars struck him down and across the room. As Itchy tried to rise up, one of Boxcars' axes buried itself into the stone floor-- and into Itchy's right leg. His shrill cry alerted Crowbar in ways he cursed himself for.  
   "Someone distract him," Crowbar whispered grudgingly. Eggs joined Boxcars on the table, Clover-2 still barely clinging to his shoulder. While his head was turned, Eggs delivered a punch to it, then another. Boxcars could not maneuver his long battle axe to retaliate in close combat like this. He dropped his remaining axe to return blows, reaching behind him with his other hand to summon the weapon currently across the room, dislodging it from the floor and Itchy and nearly hitting Crowbar. Snowman's lance zoomed by and deflected it, rendering it inert again. Boxcars pushed Eggs down off the table and onto the floor and called both axes back to his hands.  
   "Fold your arms in!" Clover-2 whispered frantically into Eggs ear, momentarily dizzy from the fall. He did as he was told and Boxcars' axes came down on either side of him, grazing only his shoulders. Still, it was extremely painful. Eggs reached up and gripped the axe handles, weighing Boxcars down. Snowman fired her lance at his head-- he ducked. It flipped in the air and came back, digging its tip between Boxcars' shoulders. He let go of his axes and shook free of the weapon.

   "You stupid motherfucker," Crowbar said, using a torn piece of cloth from his robes to put pressure on Itchy's new stub. "What the fuck was that about?"  
   "What the fuck is _this_ about?" Itchy demanded. "Leave me and protect your woman, asshole."  
   "She don't need protecting," Crowbar said. "And she didn't run right up to the giant fucking thick-carapaced Dersite with some dinky fucking knives and get her leg chopped off."  
   "F-fuck," Itchy stammered. His breathing was rapid, skin a little pale. His hands hovered over what was left of his leg. "No, it's still there I-- I fucking, I can still move my leg. It's fine. I feel it."  
   "I'm holding your fucking leg. Above your head. _Look at it_."  
   "You don't know that's not your crowbar!"  
   "Lay down."  
    Itchy said, "What the hell happened to _I'm going to kill you_?"  
   "Itchy, shut the fuck up. Oh my fucking god, how many times do you have have to be told to shut up? Do what I say, or I  _will_ bash your goddamn skull in."     
    Itchy grumbled. "Shi... sorry... fine, whatever. If you say it's my leg it's my leg. Damn."  
   "And stay put."

   Boxcars snatched the lance from the air and threw it Eggs-ward. It morphed back into the cigarette holder before striking him in the chest, hanging there looking much like a dart.  
   "You're welcome," Clover-2 said as Eggs pulled it out. Boxcars ripped his axes from the floor and raised one arm-- for Snowman's whip to crack and catch his closest wrist. He lost his balance and fell on his face.  
   "Snowy," Boxcars said, lifting his head, "this ain't fair. You know I wont hurt a lady like you."  
   "Hmph, the way you're fighting? You're right. You wont." She took back her cig holder from Eggs. As Boxcars started pulling himself up, something dropped down from the table and onto his back. The familiar crook of a crowbar came out from behind and hooked onto the edge of Boxcars' throat wound, digging into the slightly upturned plates that Itchy had started loosening. Blood splurted out as some those plates were then violently peeled off. Crowbar jumped off to the side before Boxcars stood and broke free of the whip, up in what seemed like an instant and ready to retaliate with his fists.  
    Clover-2 shouted to Crowbar, "Dodge left! Now right! Duck!"  
   "Shut up, half-pint!" Boxcars shouted, aiming one his way. Eggs caught the fist and landed a few hits of his own. Boxcars pushed him away and, with another burst of speed, dashed to the other side of the room, breaking through the table and leaving a path of splintered wood in his wake. He searched through his cards again, this time drawing a pair of purple, incandescent dice, dissapearing into his fist. He blew on it and tossed them down, rolling boxcars, always boxcars. Suddenly there were six weapons surrounding him, his two axes in his hands, 3 more polearms and a morning star hovering at his flanks. Then there were twelve as each weapon's shadowy aura separated and orbited his unglowing body. The dice vibrated gently, glowing intensely and energizing Boxcars. And slowly, the dice aura started to drain.     
   Boxcars' guardian weapons sped up and pointed outward. Two of those solid shadows shot out at the Felts like guided missiles, which Snowman deflected. The weapons only persisted.  
   "Clove', get off!" Eggs warned, retrieving his timer. This time he was not interrupted, thanks to Crowbar and Snowman's protection. It took a few tries, thanks to the tachyonite blades, but momentarily, it was Eggs protecting them. His copies became a thick, living, ringing fortification. One was even assigned to protect Itchy, still laying quietly on the floor. Boxcars charged the barricade, and the barricade fought back. Unfortunately for Eggs, the experience was like brawling with a blender, mowing through the blockade slowly but steadily.  
   Snowman reverted the lance to the cig holder after fending off one of the flying weapons. "Guard me. This spell might take a minute," she said. She clenched the cig holder between her teeth and concentrated. Crowbar scaled Eggs' shoulders, careful not to knock Clover-2 off his perch. With both of the other two's help, he fully took on the flying weapons with his own, even bouncing some back at Boxcars. He seemed not to notice, despite taking heavy damage, despite the gaping throat wound that should have killed him already. Yet, he was too soon upon them, slicked in red, the last few dying Eggs latched desperately onto his legs as they tried to slow him down.  
   The emanation around the dice decayed completely. The very second they reverted to cards, Boxcars staggered. The shadow weapons dissipated, the others not currently in his hands dropped where they floated. It was then that the injuries seemed to register with his body. His breathing became labored, he seemed to struggle to hold up his axes, every step forward he took was heavy. Still, he lifted those blades, and attacked the last Eggs still standing defiantly before him. He took the blades to his chest, but not before grabbing at the poles, keeping them from cutting in too deep. Boxcars backed him into the wall while Crowbar, still clinging to Eggs, landed blow after blow to Boxcars' face, blows that he ignored.  
  Without warning, a thin shadow wall appeared across the room, with Boxcars caught right in the middle of it, looking as if standing halfway through a waterfall. His enraged expression faded into sad realization. Snowman, standing safely to the side, then lost her concentration. The barrier disappeared. Boxcars remained still, not daring to move a muscle.  
  "Damn," he said, his last words before his two halves gave way, separated with a sickening noise and joined the rest of the bodies. Snowman slid to her knees shortly after and Crowbar was immediately at her side.  
   "Didn't know you could do that with barrier magic," Crowbar gently said. She rested her head on his shoulder.  
   "It's very hard to get it to pass through someone, apparently," she said. "But it's hard for me to cast that spell as it is anyway," she added with a weary smile. Looking at what remained of Boxcars, she said, almost forlorn, "I miss him already."  
   "Kinda awful last words," Clover-2 commented with a nervous chuckle. "But I guess that'd be close to the first thing I'd say if that happened to me. It wouldn't, but, y'know!"  
   Eggs ignored him, his attention on the room that had been painted in his own blood. He doubted that he would ever get over seeing this, and there was only more to come. One copy did survive, however: the one protecting Itchy. Eggs thanked him and merged with him. Then he bent down to pick Itchy and his severed leg up.  
   "You too, huh?" Itchy said. "How nice."  
   "Yeah, why not," Eggs said. "The second you insult me or my friends, I'm dropping you."  
   Itchy pinched his forefingers together and ran them across his lips in a zipping motion, rather than say another word.

 

_Home.  
  
   Finally, he was home.  
  
   Clover and Die landed in a pile of literary debris, Die nearly slipping and falling. Despite the near-accident, the old books were a sight for sore eyes-- a mess, but _ his _mess, his lovely familiar mess. Legs shaking, weak, Die waded through it towards his desk. Clover trailed him, crawling over the clutter with far more ease. Yet, Clover stayed close, as if he planned on catching Die should he fall. He did not, to his own surprise, making it to his chair and flopping into it with a curt grunt. Die placed the doll and pin down and rested his head in his hands. His breathing was rapid, he felt as if a great weight had latched onto his back, and the urge to vomit up his insides was slowly arising in his gut and throat. But--  
    he was home.  
   "How're you feeling?" Clover said, his voice uneasy.  
   "Enervated," Die said. "Limbs feel like... like jelly. Probably... going to feel like shit in the morning."_ If I wake up tomorrow _, he almost wanted to add. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked at Clover, a cute little frown painting his face. He wondered for a moment what Clover must have thought of him. Surely, he overheard his conversation. He found that a frightening thought, somehow._  
 _"Well, as long as I'm here, you're gonna get better!" Clover said defiantly. "Oh, and I guess Stitch can help too, and get you change of pants. Look at all that blood! You want me to go get him? Oh wait... prolly shouldn't make him climb through all this. Hmmm."  
    Die said. "I can... I can walk to the boutique. I just need a few minutes."  
   "You sure 'bout that? You really don't look so good."  
   "I want to walk," he insisted. "There's no point in him coming here, anyway. He's not a doctor." Looking for a change of subject, Die reached into his pockets and found the revolvers. He placed them next to his doll. "Oh... didn't mean to steal these. Hope they didn't... need them."  
   "I think you might need them more than they do!" Clover said. "They've got an extra Clover, after all. And I'm not too sure bullets work all that well against magic anyway. They would've been packing heat already if it was, don'tcha think?"  
   "Maybe." Die said.   
   He wanted to look at Clover again, reach down and hold him close, feel him wet his face with kisses.   
   But he was home.  
   Safe.  
  _ Would you even bother touching me now? The obligation is gone.  
   _He quashed the thought. He was loved.  
  _ It'll take some getting used to....  
 _After ripping himself from his thoughts and back to reality, Die found himself staring at the voodoo doll. For the first time, in a long, long time, he felt no particular need for it, even after such a prolonged separation. It was just a doll. His tool. He always knew that, never quite felt it. No. What he needed now was a real touch. Warm hands. A loving voice that did not originate from his own mind. Things he had access to now.  
   The corner of Die's mouth curled up. "Sorry old friend... I, I think you've been replaced."  
   Clover grinned. "_ Only _replaced? I think you've upgraded! And a lot. I'm way better than that dumb old thing."  
   "It's-it's not dumb," Die said, a little more defensively than he would have liked. "But... yes, I suppose you're right. Upgraded. Considerably," he said carefully. "It's just... this thing's been... it's embarrassing but... I've had it for far longer than I've been in the Felt. The doll itself was... upgraded." He laughed nervously. "I would steal things from people I didn't like and, and, well... sticking the doll with needles didn't seem to do much, but it made me feel a little better sometimes. I... damn. I kinda... I kinda wish I took something from Slick when I was, um, so I could... heh, no, no... that's stupid."  
   "Creepy," Clover said. "But, in a sweet kinda way. So what'll you do with the pin? Break it?"  
   Die cautiously picked the thing up and held it to his eye. "As long as Eggs is still there, and Crowbar and Snowman, I'll... I'm not gonna do that, no. Besides, I- I don't know what kind of effects that might, uh, might, have." He shook his head. "For now, I'll just label it. Keep it separate. Safe. Will have to do research on that idea later, though. Hm. Very interesting."  
   As Die began digging through the drawers for a label and pen, Clover started shifting his weight, practically dancing._ _He said, his voice rapid, "I kinda wanted to see you break it!  Didn't think about the_ effects _, though. Don't want another," the next two words came out gingerly before resuming his rapid pace, "cake incident. I don't think things through, I guess. Never really had to before. Works out fine for me, but it's not just me that I care about anymore, y'know?"  
   "I know," Die said. That last sentence out of Clover's mouth sounded almost... tender, forcing an involuntary little skip in his heart. He swallowed. "Damn I just... I wish I could actually help them. Eggs. Crowbar. Snowy. I hate how... how_  weak _I am. Eggs had to protect me. You had to protect me. I don't want to be protected or to run anymore. I just... I don't know." Die buried his head in his arms with a frustrated groan.  
   Clover's face became hard. He found a spot on Die's pants that was not soaked in blood and tugged on it. "Alright. Let's help them then."  
   "I'll just get in the way," Die lamented, his voice muffled by his arms.  
   "Die. C'mon. Look at me! There... now, give me your hand."  
   Languidly, he slid his arm from the desk and offered it to the other, and Clover took it with both hands. Even such a small gesture made him giddy, injecting him with a shot of unexpected energy. Clover seemed to notice, his face momentarily flushing, but he continued, poorly feigning obliviousness. "L-look,so what if you're not so strong! Neither am I! But you know what you do have? Smarts. You're smart! On top of that, you got lucky 'lil me! And on top of _ that _, Eggsy has_ other _friends in the Felt," Clover winked. "Chin up. We''ll think of something. Together."  
   It may have simply been Clover's charisma, or that little show of affection, but still Die was energized, even a little inspired. _ _Die gently nodded._ _"I... yes. Yes. Clove', I, I think I can walk now. Let's... let's go... do this."_

  
Itchy remained quiet, unsettlingly quiet, a look of misery on his face. He mouthed _fuck fuck fuck fuck._ Eggs' reluctance to  carry him seemed to wane a bit, giving way to some small amount of sympathy.  
   "Maybe you should have _Snowy_ hold it," Clover-2 said, pointing at the disembodied limb secured under Eggs' arm. "Y'know, keep it on ice!"  
   "Cute," Snowman said mirthlessly. Itchy squirmed and jerked his head, opened his mouth and hesitated to shout before simply giving in to his anger.  
   "That's not fucking funny you midget piece of shit! No fuck it, you're not a piece of shit. You're just _shit,_ you and Die both! Fuck you, fuck Die, fuck the Midnight Crew, fuck this timeline, fuck everything! Just... aughh, j-just, f-fuck it." Itchy drooped, looking much like a ragdoll as he let his head loll backwards and his limbs dangle. "Just let me die."  
    Silence. Snowman made smoke rings, indifferent to Itchy's suffering. For the other three, the right words simply refused to surface.   
    Irritated, Itchy raised his head and broke that awkward quiet.  
    "Hey fatty," he said, addressing Eggs, "you said you'd drop me if I tried talking shit about your buddies. Fucking liar. You and Crowbar, goddamn lying assholes. Fuck you forever."  
    Before he could defend himself, Crowbar said, "Fine. Drop him. Halfcars can keep him company."  
   "Y-yeah," Itchy said. "Be a doll and snap my neck first."  
    Eggs knew what he said. He had meant it, at the time, but still, he found himself gently refusing. Itchy argued, and Eggs argued back until they were both shouting over each other. Crowbar intercepted.  
   "We don't need no one poking their heads in here," he harshly whispered.  
   "Whatever," Itchy said, his voice drained of all energy. "Eggs. This is my life, not one of yours. And I'm done. Want my power? You can have it. And you hate me, don't you? Easy to fix. Just _kill me_."  
   "I... I don't hate you," Eggs said, uneasily. It took him longer than he would have liked to say that, to think about that. Surely, Itchy noticed.  
   "Liar."  
   "Hey!" Clover-2 said, "you should feel pretty lucky someone that doesn't hate you-- actually exists!"  
   "Shut the fuck up, you short shit," Itchy said, in that same lethargic manner. To Eggs, he said, "By the way, how do you think the real you is holding up?"  
    It took him an even longer time to register what Itchy had just asked him. "N-Wh-what?"  
   "Ha. You forgot?" Itchy said. "You forgot that you're just a copy, that the real you took off with that Derse fuck? Remember that? You're a copy. How do you feel? The real you could be dead right now, never given the chance to see his precious Die or Clover ever again. But you did. Shit, how do you think they'll feel when they find out? That's not fair, is it? Guess I can't blame you, though. Of _course_ you'd want to carry on like this. Maybe you did remember. Maybe you've been playing dumb about it. I bet you hope you never run into him again. You want to live, right? Just keep on pretending?  
   "You selfish shit."  
   Eggs nearly dropped him right there, purely out of shock. He did forget. And that Itchy would bring it up again, purely out of malice, filled him with fury and fear and despair. Old memories flashed through his mind. Pacing that laundry room, discussing his power with Die. Not _quite_  knowing.  
   "N-no, shut up," Eggs said, shaking his head. "He's alive. He's gotta be alive. And we're gonna meet up again, and... I'll merge back with him. And. I-I'll be... fine."  
   "You don't have a fucking clue," Itchy laughed. "You just did that with that copy that was protecting me. What happened to him? Is he in there with you? Can't tell, huh? Probably dead. You just sucked out his memories. If souls exist-- if he even _had_ a soul, you probably sucked that out, too."  
   This time, Eggs did drop him, hard. "Shut up!" But Itchy took it in stride, laughing at him.  
   "Itchy," Crowbar sternly said, "I don't know what the fuck is going on exactly, but I think you said enough."   
   "Okay, great, that's fine, you're right," Itchy said, "You hate me enough to do it now, fatty? Let's do this. Kill me."  
   Frustrated, Eggs blurted, "Do it yourself if you wanna die so badly!"  
   Itchy lifted himself up on his elbows. He was in shock, for a moment, before narrowing his eyes and reaching into his robes. "Fine." When, through the blur of tears, Eggs saw the glint of a knife, he felt a surge of panic and remorse and fell to his knees to grab Itchy's arm. Incensed, Itchy demanded to know what Eggs was trying to do.  
   "Itchy-- Itchy, stop!" Eggs said, "I didn't mean that! I just, you just-- damn it!" he wiped his eyes with his free sleeve. "You were right, about what you said. I mean, when we were talking with Die, about taking you home. Earlier. I didn't promise you anything, I know I didn't, but, you did help me. You... rescued me, and you took me here. I wouldn't be here without you. And... besides, you're... still family. Extended. Family."  
   Grimly, Itchy said, "You didn't seem to fucking think so when my ride outta this hellhole was leaving. You know how many nights I spent, sitting alone, just staring at my knives, looking into that closet full of heavy weapons? There was just one thing keeping me going. A little bit of hope. And I could have been dropped off out of sight. I'd never bother you or Die again. Okay, it was pretty fucking stupid of me to pull a knife on him. I didn't expect him to stand up to me and I got a little excited. Can you blame me? What the hell else was I supposed to do? Hug him? Beg? I can't do that. You all know I can't do that. Moments like that, I almost wish I could.  
   "But it's passed, and I'm fucked now. No hope. No fucking hope. I can't sit here and wait for another Die to come along-- I'm just gonna fuck it up again anyway, and I doubt the midget wants to help me out either. And that's not even getting into... this," he indicated his missing leg. "How am I supposed to live out on the streets like this? And now, you wont let me just end it. Thanks. Thanks,  _brother_."  
   Itchy did nothing to hide the little droplets running down his cheeks, or to hide the little hiccuping cries that choked their way out during his depressed rant. If he tried to hide the gasping, shuddering sobs that broke through afterwards, he did an awful job of it. To see him like this, and to know that he caused this, made Eggs even more miserable. He gently let go of Itchy.  
   "I... shit," Eggs murmured. "I just-- I'm-- sorry. I don't know. Maybe we can at least fix your leg. They killed Stitch, so one of them must have his power, so there must be an effigy room somewhere. Right? If we get that guy, we can... fix you. Crowbar? Snowy?" Eggs said, looking up at them, "am I right about the effigies?"  
   Crowbar said, uneasily, "We woulda took control over those effigies back a long time ago if we could. Or Snowy and me wouldn't be running around with," he touched his face, "this." Snowman made a similar gesture, a small frown forming on her lips. "But," Crowbar continued, "you're here now. That last fight showed that, maybe, we can pull it off this time. I damn well wouldn't have survived without you."  
   Something made Eggs glance around the room again, his duplicate bodies left there to molder. He said, "Just glad to... help. Who-- who's got Stitch's power now?"  
   Snowman answered. "Droog has control over the effigies now. If you really want to do this, you know what has to be done."  
   Clover-2 bit his lip. "I uh, saw him earlier and he didn't look too good. Maybe he's got some kind of tachyonite cancer or something. This might not be too hard!"  
   "Good," Crowbar said. "Finally. Yeah... yeah, maybe we can do this. You good, Snowy?" She nodded and started to stand.  
   "Do whatever," Itchy sighed, wiped his eyes, and put away his knife. The worst of his breakdown was over, but he was far from okay. "Just... whatever."  
     
  They continued on through the dungeon-like corridors, Snowman guiding the way. Though any gangsters still lingering seemed to have lost complete interest in chasing them, especially with the insatiable swordsmen on the loose, she remained cautious. They even came upon one of the little dinosaurs, leaping and stabbing at some unfortunate carapace crossing the horizontal part of the T-junction before them.  
   "Isn't that the same kinda dino that attacked Die?" Eggs said as the creature disappeared around the corner, never noticing them. He leaned over and peered down that hall, watching the swordsman jump and eagerly stab its face into the carapace's back, latching on with those claws and ramming its head into the man's shell over and over again.  
   "I wouldn't really know," Crowbar said over the man's screams. "Just glad that our own didn't come back the way it sounds like those things did."  
   They arrived at the infirmary soon enough. The door was ajar, and from it came voices. Quietly, they gathered at the opening to see Diamonds Droog sitting at a chair, speaking with a slightly hoarse voice into a floating shadow mirror. He was smoking; the room stank of it.  
   "Oh, there's DD. That's convenient," Clover-2 whispered dryly.  
   "You promise you're not gonna tell the boss?"   
   Droog cleared his throat. "CD, If we catch them before he finds out, we'll have no need to tell him about any-" Droog turned his head, locking eyes with the Felts in the doorway, his expression as blank as ever. Without pause, he said, "I'll call you back." Droog swapped out the mirror for AK-47s with reddish magazines already inserted. He started firing immediately.  
   Crowbar slammed the door shut before the first spray of bullets could connect, splintering the thick wooden door. Eggs willingly took the brunt of whatever slipped through the cracks, back against the door with Itchy still cradled in his arms. The sound of gunfire stopped quickly, though not quickly enough for Eggs' comfort. The Felts and Droog each waited for the other to make a another move.  
   Clover-2 said, "You alright, Eggsy?"  
   Eggs whispered, "What'cha think? This crap hurts! I'm pretty sure parts of my shoulders are gone, and I think there's like a hundred bullets in me, and I hurt in places I don't know the names of!"  
   "Your old injuries stopped bleeding," Snowman said, "if that's any consolation."  
   Still incensed, Eggs said, "A little!"  
   Crowbar gave Eggs a gentle pat of encouragement. "I- we appreciate the protection. You know that, right?"  
   Eggs slowly nodded. He knelt and put Itchy down near the door, then reached for the timer. Before making a move, he paused, fingers touching the knob but frozen in place. Itchy's words echoed in his mind, sudden terror paralyzing him, a feeling unlike any he had had since before first realizing the fate of his clones. A fate that he would share. Itchy had said these things out of malice, but they were legitimate concerns that he never had this much time to think about before, as a clone.   
   Itchy noticed Eggs' hesitation.  
   He reached into his robes for his knife. "I don't need your protection. I doubt anyone's gonna come after me anyway. What? Don't look at me like that. I'm... not gonna kill myself, okay? Not... yet."  
   "Everything okay?" Crowbar said, as if sensing the situation, however vaguely.  
   "Yeah," Eggs said, putting away his timer. "It's... it's okay. Itchy? You're really not gonna?"  
   "No. Not yet," he breathed. "Shit, why do you even care-- nevermind. 'Family'... ha. Right." Itchy smiled at him. "Well if you're so worried... have another clone watch me." Eggs' silent, terrified, despairing reaction prompted a ruefully amused smile from Itchy.  
     
   Back pressed against a tall chair, Droog clutched his guns and assessed the situation, his cig tucked into the corner of his mouth. A fight was the last thing he wanted in his current condition. It was rare moments like these that he actively wished he had taken the time to properly learn the teleport spell, to learn more magic in general. But he had his guns, at least. He always had his guns. Reluctantly, he swapped one out for the card that would become a mirror, and contacted Deuce again.  
   "That was fast! Everything copacetic in there?"  
   Droog shook his head, and told Deuce, in brief words, to meet him in the infirmary-- trouble. "Felt."  
   Deuce's eyes lit up. "Is Clover there? I got a bone to pick with Clover!"  
   "Just come here. And no explosives this time. Our effigies are in here."  
   "But you're smoking in there!"  
   "Cigarettes don't generally  _explode_."  
   "Gee, I said I was sorry 'bout all that! Besides, I been testin' this new-"  
   "-please. Just-"  
   "Wait!"  
   "Wait?"  
  
   _Deuce looked over his mirror, having heard a rapid_ click clacking _sound from across the room. Sprinkles was on the run, leaving a trail of gore in its wake. Strawberry was not far behind. With tangible excitement, Deuce mashed together a string of words,_ found them, be a minute _, and unceremoniously dismissed the call. Deuce followed the trail closely until he saw the tip of Strawberry's tail disappear into the kitchen entrance._     
  
    Annoying.  
    Droog caught some of the whispers from the Felts behind that door.  
    " _Okay, that's enough!_ _Eggsy, I'll keep an eye on him for you! Now you guys take care of the effigy thing!"_  
    _Effigy._  Droog scanned the room quickly, noting all the charred, torn up effigies, musing momentarily over his negligence. But the well-being of their cronies was the least of his concerns at the moment (at any moment, really). He would put off dealing with it later.  
   With Deuce taking his sweet time, Droog decided to contact Boxcars. He channeled the spell, waited, stared at his cold reflection in the mirror. Tried again. Waited. Cursed at his companion as though he could hear it.  _Shit, Boxcars._ He would give him a stern talking to later.  
  Before Droog could attempt to contact Slick, the doors burst open. Snowman's lance shot out like a bullet, just flying over Droog's head, impaling his hat, and embedding itself into the torso of one of the hangmen. Droog peeked out from behind the chair, and there was Eggs, behind him-- Snowman and Crowbar, using the big guy as mobile attack-cover. Aiming for his head, or at least his legs, Droog opened fire. An unrelenting, violent coughing fit suddenly took him, throwing his aim everywhere but the target.  
Snowman's lance was swinging back around. He fired at it, nudging it just away from his face. Before Eggs could lay his hands on him, a burst of black energy exploded out from the door frame. Eggs startled and turned to look. There was Deuce, covered in blood, eyes reddened and wet with tears, mouth curled in an uncharacteristic snarl. He drew a card, throwing it at the Felts' feet. The black residue dissolving around him, left over from the teleportation, pulsed and strengthened with a little magical boost and shot from Deuce towards the Felts. It coalesced into a round barrier, trapping Eggs and Crowbar and Snowman. Itchy could be momentarily seen peeking out from behind the doorway, a frustrated look on his face, as Clover-2-- after warning Itchy that he would still be watching-- ran to them.  
   "You guys did it to him, didn't you!" Deuce said. He squeezed his hands into a little fist, and the dome shrunk rapidly, squeezing the three into each other, onto the floor. "You killed him!"  
   " _What_ ," Droog said. He stepped out from his cover, dusted off his clothing. Drew another hat from his deck. "Who? What are you talking about?"  
    "They killed h... h-h," Deuce said, his anger momentarily giving way to anguish. Unable to form the words, he placed the tips of his two unglowing forefingers together, then arced them out, tracing a dark heart shape in the air. Droog's eyes widened. He turned around, eyes running over the effigies more carefully. A sinking feeling hit him when he found their personal row and the empty, dangling rope between his own effigy and Deuces'.  
   He was speechless.  
   Clover-2 pressed his hands up against the cool, strange-feeling barrier. Eggs and Crowbar and Snowman were packed tightly like sand in a bucket, trying to catch as much breath as they could manage like that. Still, Snowman was trying to look behind her, trying _something._  
   Defiantly, Clover-2 said, "What'cha think you're gonna do to them? You _know_ you can't kill them, don't you? My luck's got ways of rubbin' off on people!" Eggs backed him up, voice distorted by the barrier. Droog was snapped out of his stupor. Instead of that talk later, he would... grieve. Not something he was used to doing, not something he was sure _how_ to do. But he would have to figure that out later.   
   Said Droog, shoving those feelings aside for the moment, cold as ever, "That didn't seem to save your friends the first time around." Clover-2 startled; something Droog said must have hit him somewhere hard. But the small Felt recovered quickly enough. "Besides. These three seemed to have lived through a lot. They could stand to live through a whole lot more."  
   "We're gonna do a whole lot fucking more than just 'live'," Crowbar said.  
   Deuce wiped his face on his shoulder. "DD, I know you said not to bring explosives here, but I did. It's under Snowy right now."  
   "Under the barrier?" Droog said. Clover-2 ran over to where Snowman was uncomfortably curled over. A card lay flat under her breasts. Her appalled expression did all the talking.  
   "It wont go off!" Clover-2 said. "It'll just fizzle out! You're so stupid, you know that?"  
   "No you're stupid!" Deuce said.   
   "We have a bounty of tachyonite, Clover," Droog said, sending a ring of cig smoke his way. "You don't think we wouldn't use it in everything?"  
   "Gee, no wonder you're sick, huh?" Clover-2 smirked. Droog shook his head.  
   "Unrelated."  
   "You sure?"  
   "You're missing the point," Droog said. "It's a metal. We can make bombs with it. We-- CD, how long did you set it for?"  
   "Um," Deuce said, awkwardly attempting to look at the bomb-card without staring at Snowman's breasts (it failed), "um, um, it shoulda gone off already?"  
   Droog said something under his breath. The sound of metal scraping against stone stopped him mid-sentence. Before he could turn around to see, something struck him hard in the back, pain comparable to a direct punch from Cans in the old days, though this time he stayed put. And this time, he looked down to find the business end of Snowman's lance protruding from his stomach, a little blood staining his clothes, a little black energy curling away from the weapon. He grabbed the lance in an attempt to hold it in place.  
   "D-deuce," he quietly said. The little carapace looked up in horror, dropping the barrier and using that magical energy to hold the lance up for him, preventing it from moving and doing more damage. Eggs and Crowbar and Snowman practically flowed out of that little space, falling on top of each other and gasping for air.  
   "Oh my gosh, DD, are you okay? Are you-- oh no, not again, not again! Please--!"  
   The Felts gathered themselves and groped the floor for the bomb. Eggs picked it up.  
   "Are we sure it's a bomb?" Eggs said, nervous. He blinked, and what he initially saw as the seven of clubs had shifted into a six. Quickly, he shouted into it, "uhh, password! Password!"  
   "What the _hell_ are you trying to do?" Crowbar said. "Throw it! Fucking throw it! Not like-- it's a fucking _card_!-- shit--!"  
   "Give it to me!" Snowman shoved and snatched the card as it gently floated towards the floor. "Teach him how to throw a card later," she said as she threw it, aiming at the far window, near Deuce and Droog.   
   Droog's perpetual poker face faltered. There was no time to grieve, there was no time to finish a simple thought. He lost purchase of his cig, and simply shouted at Deuce with that hoarse voice, " _Guard S--!"  
  
boom_  
  
   The walls and floor gave way, glass and stone flying out in a burning wave of destruction. Eggs turned and scooped up his companions as he was flung past the gaping hole that was once the door.  
   With Crowbar, Snowman, and Clover-2 clutched tightly under him, Eggs forced himself up and off of them, his aching body just barely cooperating. Shrapnel. Burns. Crowbar quietly thanked him for the save.   
   "Are... you guys alright?" Clover-2 said.  
   They did not get out completely unscathed, but they were doing much better than Eggs was at the moment. Snowman was touching her face again, some of her old wounds having opened up, along with new ones. Clover-2 was up as soon as Eggs was off of him. Itchy lay against the far wall, having crawled away the moment he heard the word 'bomb'.Eggs was immensely relieved to see that Itchy chose not to crawl towards it.  
   All that remained of the infirmary was a peninsula of stone jutting out from the destroyed entrance, one thick support beam bolstering it. Slick's unharmed effigy was on that piece of floor, the remains of a barrier fizzling out. Beyond was open sky, approaching dawn. Droog and Deuce and the rest of the effigies had vanished.   
   "He's gone, isn't he," Itchy said.  
   "Yes," Snowman said.  
   "Itchy," Eggs said, "I'm... sorry. I'm really sorry. God... damn!" he cried, palming his face, blurting out a string of apologies and curses. Itchy brought his knee to his chest and rested his head on it. The red dust started settling into the cleared air, irritating their wounds and lungs. And the explosion was attracting flyers. "Oh shit, no," Eggs breathed, stumbling and resting his weight against what remained of the door frame.  
   "Come on," Snowman said, helping Crowbar up and tugging at Eggs' arm. With an obvious limp, she pointed them towards the nearest alcove. Somehow, Eggs managed to pick up Itchy and lumber towards it.  
     
 _The patrollers circled the area, investigating from afar, small mounted spotlights sweeping over the destruction. One of them eventually landed, cautiously, above the support beam, testing with its feet before settling down on all fours. The rider disembarked, surveyed, returned. In a form of morse code, the rider had his lessaloploth call to the others. The rest of the guards understood and continued on their routes._  
  
   "What do we do now?" Clover-2 said. "Lucky Slick didn't notice us like we planned, huh? Ehe... heh... ohhh man." Snowman shook her head and lit up a cigarette, reflexively reaching for her holder. Recalling where it was now was visibly disappointing.  
   "He'll notice soon enough what we done to his pals," Crowbar said. "Well what... you, did. Sorry I weren't much help back there."  
   "So we're pretty screwed, huh," Eggs said.  
   Crowbar laughed ruefully. "Yeah. But at least we took a few of them down with us. But," he touched Eggs' arm, "look at you. Wasn't even your fight. Maybe you an' Clover should go home."  
   "It's okay," Eggs said. He shut his tired eyes. Thought of Die and his Clover and Biscuits and Quarters and.... "Can't leave you guys like this. Don't even know if Clover's luck will hold you over if he ain't in the timeline anymore. Don't wanna find out that it doesn't."  
   "Eggsy," Clover-2 sighed and crawled up into his lap, taking that big hand in with both of his in an attempt to comfort him. "You don't gotta work so hard to get people to like you, y'know?"  
   Nearby, lessaloploths could be heard calling. The things were extraordinarily loud when motivated to sound out.  
  "Those flyers," Itchy said, gaining everyone's attention. He had been keeping his head down, staring blankly at the floor. But he had been listening, and he took a deep breath and mustered up that tiny, tiny bit of hope Eggs had given him. He lifted his head and, with a little spark of his old self shining through, made a suggestion. "They're gonna check out the damage. Let's steal a bird and look for Droog's corpse and get that fucking power back."  
     
   The explosion had attracted curious people from within the castle as well, though not many. With disguises covering as much skin as possible, the Felts pushed through the babbling bystanders. Their injuries did not stand out as unusual, considering the psychopath that these carapaces had as an employer, and the escaped swordsmen, and all the other shit that occurred today. Eggs looked over the crowd, and did a double-take at what he saw.  
   The rider ushered the crowd back with a gruff, commanding voice. He pulled on the reigns of his pterosaur, and it came forward with that menacing beak, swinging and nipping at the crowd. They dispersed. Pulling back his hood, Eggs came forward.  
   "You're... that guy, aren't you?"  
   Itchy, slung over Eggs' shoulder, said, "The vigilante. You fucking came back, haha. That was nice of you. And stupid."  
   "Good to see you as well, Itchy," AR said, lifting the goggles he wore onto his forehead.  
   "You guys sure seem friendly," Crowbar said. "Can we trust him?"  
    AR said, "I was captured by the Midnight Crew and basically _enslaved_. Granted, the job wasn't _completely_ awful, but I would have liked to have a choice in the matter. I owe Itchy a bit of a debt for freeing me, and Eggs even more of a debt for making him free me. I wanted to make certain that you not regret it." He glanced behind him, at the lessaloploth that Eggs now recognized as old Krathoid. There was a large bundle on her back that seemed to be moving. "Eggs, please come here. You need to see this."  
   "What's wro-- oh... oh shit," Eggs said, touching the bundle. It was moist, reddened, breathing raggedly. It slowly lifted and looked up at Eggs, and it looked far, far worse off than he did.  
   "Hey," Eggs-1 weakly said. "Turns out... there _was_ a monster in the moat... heh."  
   "Yet another debt I owe," AR solemnly said. "We had just escaped when I saw the explosion. I figured it might have been you causing trouble. Never learned how to take these things," he patted Krathoid's beak, "off the rails completely, or I might have gone into town to find help, but I could nudge him this way, at least, see if it really was you."  
   Eggs-1 reached out and grabbed Eggs' hand. The grip was frighteningly weak. "I see Clove' there. Where's Die? Is he okay?" Eggs assured the other, giving him the short, fast version of what was going on. Eggs-1 nodded. He seemed happy, for a moment. "You ready to come back?" he said. "It should, um... dilute? I think that's the word. Dilute the damage on my end, maybe make a few extras to help... otherwise I think I'm gonna... I... I don't know...."  
   Silently, Eggs set Itchy down against the wall, taking as much time as possible, and not just due to his injuries. He found himself angry at Itchy again (but still placed him down gently) and terrified and wishing so badly for it all to go away. He reached out to the other, slowly.  
   At the last moment, he shied away.  
   Eggs-1 scrutinized him. "W... what's wrong?"  
   "What will really happen to me?"  
   "...Where is this coming from?" Eggs bowed his head, covering his face with his hand. Eggs-1 looked on, thinking, trying to pick out what words to say. They were the same person, more or less. They could figure out what the other was thinking easily enough. "You're scared?" Eggs nodded quietly. The other fell silent again, then finally, solemnly said, "Eggsy... I'm dying."  
   "I know."  
"Eggs," Itchy said, startling him; he had forgotten that they had a bit of an audience standing back there, murmuring amongst themselves. "Look... fuck, why are you so damn scared? I said that shit just to get to you but I didn't know it'd be that fucking bad. Hell, you ever think that maybe _both_ of you blink out? But it doesn't matter.  _You'll_ never really cease to exist. Your memories and everything about you get carried on, and that's a hell of a lot more than anyone else will ever get."  
   "I... guess, but-"  
   "But  _what_? One of you's going down either way. Roll the fucking dice!"  
   Eggs-1 said, "I can tough it out. For a bit." Eggs helped his injured self up. He was able to walk as long as he had Eggs' shoulder to lean on. Right next to Itchy, he slid down the wall and sat. The damage done to him was likely to have killed anyone else. But he was not a 'meatshield' for nothing. He hung on.  
   Wearily, Eggs-1 said, "I remember. All the hours I spent pacing that little laundry room eating soap and buttons, thinking it might take my mind off things, but it only made things worse. Remember that like yesterday."  
   Clover-2 climbed up into Eggs-1's lap and planted a few kisses on his cheek. "Hope this helps," he said uneasily. "Damn, even if we went back home now, this would take Stitch forever to fix, wouldn't it? Clearly the effigy thing doesn't work across timelines else he should've noticed this by now! Do you guys really need me that badly?"  
   Crowbar, with Snowman's arm around his shoulder, said, "Honestly? Honestly," he exhaled, and reluctantly said, "I'm the one who needed all this. Snowy can take care of herself, as long as she doesn't have to focus on taking care of me. I don't care if I die along with Slick. But-"  
   "I do," she finished.  
   Eggs said, "If we go back and get touched up, and come back to you guys dead... all this would be for nothing."  
   Itchy sat up and pointed at Krathoid. "So get me on that thing. I can take him 'off the rails'."  
   "No, no, hold on a sec," Crowbar said, stepping up, " _You_ ain't gonna be taking Stitch's power back."  
   "Oh, and you are? I'd like to see how the fuck that would work out."  
   Snowman approached the creature and placed a hand on her beak. "I'll be taking it. You'll be driving."  
   "Fine," Itchy said. He touched his stump. "I'll need a prosthetic."  
     
   Krathoid crouched and leaped, taking to the skies with Itchy at the helm, Snowman's hands reluctantly gripping his waist. Initially flapping hard and throwing out dust and gusts of  chilled air, Krathoid was up and sailing smoothly away. Itchy clung to the base of Krathoid's neck with his remaining leg, and the crowbar that Snowman magically had bound to Itchy's stump. She would not be able to cast any other spells as long as that one was active, and Itchy would not be able to force his power as long as he was connected to the crowbar. But, he was confident.  
   Itchy forgot, for the moment, what had happened to him. There was nothing but the encroaching dawn, free skies, and Krathoid's giant head. Wings spread out on either side, flexing ever so slightly as they soared, flapping occasionally. He forgot, and took a long moment to enjoy himself. Wind whistled loudly past their ears, making verbal communication pointless. Snowman flicked the side of his face instead.  
   They swooped down around the rocky bottom of the citadel, using the mounted spotlight to canvas the floating rocks under and around the destroyed infirmary. Passing under that threshold was much like passing under a raincloud under which disturbing temporal energy sat static in the air. Familiar iridescent colors flashed nearby. Strings.  
  
 _Deuce lifted himself up onto his elbows. His carapace was cracked and burned, a few of his little teeth were missing, one of his eyes refused to focus, but he would live. Droog, however.... Deuce crawled to him, reached out and touched his shoulder. Droog watched him approach, lifted an arm and let him in, giving Deuce a weak hug before shutting his eyes for good.  
   Deuce would have stayed there indefinitely if he had not noticed Itchy and Snowman passing by on Krathoid. Their dark carapaces hid them in the rocks, the spotlight never falling upon them. He reached for his cards._  
  
   One of the black ribbons appeared to materialize out of nowhere, passing like a phantom through Krathoid's wing, distorting the air and everything around them. For the duration of the passing, there were no rocks or castle or dust, just open sky above a moonlit ocean. A monstrous thing breached the waters, its long body shooting up towards them. For the first time, Krathoid showed some outward sign of emotion as she flapped and kicked and cried like a panicked chicken and escaped the sea monster. As it fell back into the sea, the string passed completely through and the desert and floating castle returned, along with a large stone hovering directly before them. Itchy pulled hard on the reins, avoiding the thing, her feet just scraping against the rock and pushing up on it. Itchy felt Snowman clinging hard to him and making noises in his ear, probably curses.  
   Other noises managed to penetrate the barrier of wind, however, such as the alarming screeches coming from all sides. Krathoid hesitated and called back, as if confused. From the darkness emerged other riders from all sides, below and above, and all of them were targeting Krathoid. Irritated, Itchy got his mount back on track, had her fold in those massive wings and dive past the oncoming, oddly attentive air guards.   
   Snowman clung to him so tightly, Itchy was sure she would break the skin. When clear enough, Krathoid twirled and spread her wings again, giving Snowman enough confidence to reach for her whip. She cracked it towards the face of the nearest aggressor. It crashed beakward into a sand dune, throwing up broken glass and brick and its rider down into the chasm.  
   One guard dived down from above and twisted in the air so that it appeared under them, upside down, its rider clinging precariously. Its beak snatched Krathoid's ankle and it angled its neck back and twisted further in an attempt to capsize them. Itchy shouted and guided Krathoid into another dive, pulling them both down into a freefall. Without being prompted, Krathoid reached and grabbed the aggressor as well. They fell like a spinning wheel fighting to be the one on top until Snowman managed to land another hit with her whip. The other pterosaur completely lost its will to attack the moment its rider was out of commission, falling helplessly towards the earth.  
   As Krathoid gained air again, they circled back to watch for more trouble, but the other guards were gone. They were more dedicated than most who worked for the Midnight Crew, but apparently, not dedicated enough. Itchy allowed himself a triumphant laugh and risked raising both middle fingers above his head (but just for a moment). He landed on a floating rock to let Krathoid catch her breath.  
   "So, you see any of Droog anywhere?" Itchy said. He adjusted in his seat to look at his passenger. She did not look pleased.  
   "What do you think?" She calmly said. Itchy scoffed.  
   "Oh gee Snowy, I didn't take you down here with me for a joy ride. Didn't even use any helpful magic." She punched his shoulder. "I was fucking kidding!" He muttered, "Can't take a fucking joke."  
   "Nice to see that you're feeling better," she said. Krathoid moved, and she quickly had her arms around Itchy's belly again, which ached tremendously now. He made sure Snowman knew it. Krathoid moved again, like she was antsy.  
   "What's with this thing all of the sudden?" Itchy said. Krathoid cawed at him and ambled up the rock, head swinging from side to side, surveying her surroundings. She then craned it backwards, looking directly at Itchy and Snowman, cocking her head curiously. _Curiously_.   
   "That string... must have done something to her," Snowman said. "...Interesting."  
   "Great," Itchy said. "How the fuck am I supposed to control him if he can control himself?"  
   She seemed distant, deep in thought about this development. Itchy snapped his fingers at her, and she slapped them down. "You did fine a few moments ago. She even tried to help." Itchy groaned and shook his head.   
  They leaped off the rock and u-turned back towards the castle's undercarriage, through that patch of strings, nimbly avoiding the majority of them. Each one that caught them caused a different, jarring effect, but none so great as the first one. All the while, Snowman kept an eye out as Itchy navigated. There was more broken stone and glass and effigy stuffing and chairs and random other bits-- even a finger would have been sufficient to take that power back, but finding black carapace amongst the rock was a lot easier said than done.  
   Snowman tapped at Itchy's shoulder and gestured below The guards were not finished with them after all.  
   The gigantic creature seemed to appear from nowhere, coming up from under them like a shark from the abyss. Its spiky beak opened wide, and Itchy's last second maneuvering saved Krathoid's wings from being clipped. Once far enough, they saw the monster in its entirety: a gigantic pterosaur many times the size of their own with a rugged beak and tall, colorful crest, stiff giraffe-like neck and a small hairy body buoyed by two pairs of wings-- the massive ones made from its arms, and the smaller set-- which turned out to be its legs. Between them was a tiny stub of a tail.  
  At the shoulders of that beast was a stout little carapace.  
  The beast oriented on Krathoid and let out a call. The shrill soundwave blast temporarily paralyzed Krathoid and her riders; they would have crashed if she had not opened her wings at the last moment before being dashed against the dirt. It was during her recovery, still disoriented, that they were nearly hit again. A lucky collision with a string sped them up just as the sonic boom silently passed.  
   Itchy and Snowman knew what that creature was. An altaerion: the largest living thing to take to the air, the last resort, and it, like the rest of the revived animals, was under Clubs Deuce's care.  
  Itchy had Krathoid pull up, and the altaerion followed them up the side of the castle and high into the sky, zigzagging to avoid more of the concentrated blasts. Krathoid was faster, but that did not mean as much when the enemy had such stunning projectiles. Once over the top of the citadel, they tucked into the castle's aviary and hid in the stables. Krathoid let herself gently fall onto her stomach, her limbs awkwardly sprawled out. Snowman and Itchy looked up as the altaerion flew over, dwarfing them and blotting out the barely visible stars. Itchy held his head and cried out with frustration.  
   "This isn't fucking working! Fucking hopeless! Hopeless. Just hopeless. Fuck everything. God damn I feel like my ears are bleeding. Just take that whip and strangle me now."  
   Snowman lit a cigarette, her hands and voice shaking a little despite her attempts to remain calm. She did not actually hear exactly what Itchy was ranting about, but she seemed to pick up on how he was feeling, and how he waved his hands and grimaced and pointed. After a while, she said, "Relax, hon."  
   "I'll relax when I'm dead."  
   "I'm sure you can figure something out. You're supposed to be good at this."  
   "What's the fucking point," Itchy spat. "We found CD, but who gives a shit. DD and his power is fucking gone and so's my last reason for sticking around. Shit. I don't see how you and Crowbar didn't off yourselves a long time ago."  
    She rolled her eyes. "You talk too much. Take me back to my husband and try not to attract Deuce. If you do a good job I might just take you back to our hidey hole and put a bullet in your head."  
   "Fine," Itchy groused. "Just need a goddamn minute. Shit, my fucking head...."  
   Unfortunately, Deuce returned, and this time he stopped his mount just over the aviary. The altaerion hovered there, beating those four wings, looking much like a lopsided dragonfly. There were other pterosaurs, lessaloploths and a few other species, resting there, powerful gusts disturbing them from their sleep. Only Krathoid reacted in any way to it, stumbling up and struggling against the wind that threatened to forcibly blow open her wings. They could see Deuce up there, just before he aimed his mount's head directly at them. Krathoid jumped and let the gusts give her a head-start. Returning to the others would have to wait.  
   The chase took them past the air guards, resting on some designated resting rocks, that had surrendered earlier. They scattered once spotting the altaerion, which was a minor relief., Soon, they were flying away from the crater and over the shifting sands. The sonic boom connected again, sending Krathoid tumbling into a rocky crevasse jutting up from the dirt. The altaerion's voice must have been giving out. It was weaker, but still powerful enough to ring in their ears and make their limbs feel a bit like jelly. Itchy curtly told Snowman to hold on tight. Very, very tight. A little stumble from bruised-up Krathoid, some extra effort on his part, and they were in the air again before Deuce could blast them a third time.  
   Krathoid flapped those wings, gaining speed, then did a vertical u-turn, taking Deuce by surprise. The altaerion's neck was not flexible enough to catch Krathoid as she flew at it. Itchy dropped from Krathoid's back and landed on the altaerion's. Snowman frantically crawled forward and took the reins.  
   "Thanks for the warning!" she shouted, only in retrospect realizing that he probably did not hear her.  
    Itchy was on Deuce before he could fully register what was happening, taking his arms and holding them tight. "S-stop!" Deuce cried out, "I gotta control Coco or-or...."  
   Free from control, the altaerion ceased anything resembling a chase. Its pace slowed to something more casual, slowly enough for Itchy and Deuce to more clearly hear each other. But all Deuce could do was sob and sputter about Boxcars and Droog and shout at Itchy. All the while, he felt nothing for him.  
   In the distance was a large sinkhole, visible now in the coming dawn. The altaerion spotted it before Deuce or Itchy did, opening its mouth to call at it with a non-weaponized cry. The sinkhole stirred, and two gigantic, pincers coated in deadly thorns like swords emerged from it. From between it, hidden partially beneath the colorful sand, was chitinous mandibles and large compound eyes. Antlion, larval stage. A creature ancient like the revived beasts, but had survived into the current time without need of shadow magic. The altaerion recognized it, and called to it again.  
   "C-coco's gonna," Deuce struggled, "gonna fly over to that antlion hole if you don't let go of me."  
   The antlion raised itself from the sinkhole, a gigantic sandy head with long whiskers jutting out and things that looked like boils covering the head's surface. Its mandibles opened to reveal rows and rows of razors. The antlion shook more sand away and lifted its head, opening its pincers and mouth wide as the altaerion lazily sailed towards it. Deuce's sobs turned to loud cries of fear and anger but Itchy held him tightly, remaining silent, eyes locked on the monster below. The altaerion reared back as if to land just as its shadow began to fall upon the giant insect, wriggling up and reaching out greedily. Deuce cried harder. Itchy averted his eyes from those thorny pincers and looked out at the glowing horizon. He allowed himself a calm smile.  
   The moment the giant pterosaur's body touched one of those protruding whiskers, the jaws snapped shut, and all too quickly the antlion's head disappeared under the sand, dragging the giant body down with it. As it dug itself back into its burrow--- something else brushed against its whiskers. It reacted with hesitation, but ended up ignoring the other flyer. This was meal enough.  
  
   Dawn had arrived. The castle had grown quiet, either because people had gone to sleep or because most everyone had been killed. Eggs and Crowbar and the others sat in waiting in the broken infirmary, their hoods pulled up to filter most of the dust out. The shadow of a lessaloploth emerged from the red light, preparing to land.

 

 

  "Roll the dice, huh," Eggs murmured, his other sitting right by his side. He was hanging on, avoiding eye contact, awkward and conflicted. Clover-2 sat in his lap and rested his hands on Eggs-1's, trying all he could to comfort him.  
  "It's either this or death," Eggs-1 eventually said. "That's what Die said before, right?"  
  "And Itchy said basically the same thing," Eggs nodded. "I know, I'm sorry. I'm being stupid and, and, _cowardly._ "  
  "Are you really?" Clover-2 said. "Is it really cowardly to not want to die or blink out of existence or to just plain not know what'll happen to you?"  
  "You ain't cowardly," Crowbar said, taking a seat next to him. "Look at all this shit, these bruises and bullets and cuts, you took for us. Seems pretty brave to me."  
  "We've not known each other long," AR said, pacing restlessly about the room, "but I must agree."  
   Eggs sniffled and mumbled a little _thank you_. "But wait... you didn't say anything about my being stupid."  
   Clover-2 chortled. "C'mon, Eggsy. Look where we are." A pause, and he added, You're _not_ being stupid... about this one particular thing."  
  "Oh. Uh. Thanks, Clove'. That... helps. Kind of."  
  "I just," Eggs-1 said, slowly, "want one of us to come home, okay? Lots we still have to do. People to make up to. Would've liked to hold Die at least one more time. He always looked like he needed a hug or two."  
  "I made sure he got a couple of good ones before he went home," Eggs said.  
  "Oh, me too!" Clover-2 said, "both of me! We made damn sure that he knew that, that we...."  
  "We love him," Eggs said.  
  "Yeah," Clover-2 said. "He looked so... happy! And cute! He was practically glowin'!"  
  "Shoulda seen him when I first found him," Eggs said with a gentle little smile, steadily growing as he spoke. "Ran right up to me and let me pick him up and, heh," he touched where Die had kissed him. Remembering that moment-- his bright teary eyes and grin and how he clutched him tight-- it made all the pain worth it. Completely worth it. "I don't think I ever seen him happier."  
   Sheepishly, he looked up at Eggs-1, not sure what to expect. A little jealousy, sadness? But no, Eggs-1 was smiling just as much as he was right now.  
   He felt at that moment like the worst piece of cowardly, stupid, selfish shit, looking at he who received far more suffering for only vicarious satisfaction, with a smile on his face. Maybe he should have expected that. They were the same person, after all.  
   Eggs-1 shut his eyes, let himself slump over. "Good," he simply said.  
   Eggs gulped. "I. Um. Damn it... w-wait... I want to-- I, I'm.... ready to...."  
   Clover-2 suddenly opened his eyes wide, squeezing Eggs-1's fingers. "Eggsy?" he said. " _Eggsy_?"  
  "Wha-- what's wrong?" Eggs demanded, and Crowbar and AR leaned in with as much alarm.  
   He was gone.  
  "N-no," Eggs said, barely a whisper. He took Eggs-1's other hand (limp) started shaking him (nothing) started shouting at his face-  
  "Eggs!" Crowbar said, taking his shoulder in an attempt to pull him back. "He's...."  
  "O-oh my god," Eggs sat back against the wall and cupped his damp face. Anything else he might have said was drowned out by choking, hiccuping sobs, and he hardly noticed Clover-2 and Crowbar and even AR (kneeling down in front of him) there trying in vain to console him _shit cowardly stupid selfish shit_  
   It felt like forever since he started crying. There were no more tears to give and he never felt so empty. As the shock began to wear off, he lifted Eggs-1's hand (still warm) to his chest.  
   Hesitantly, he spoke, "I... I'm gonna... Clover, get off of him. Gonna see if I can absorb him. Least I can do."

_flurry of teeth cutting ripping can't see dark boney toothy fish or lizard or something taste of blood ripping tearing darkness  
   relief....  
   darkness_

   Every memory poured into him in an instant, every wound cutting into him like a thousand knives. He still tasted blood as he returned to reality, to the others inquiring words _are you okay? Eggs?_ but....  
With the pain soon came that last sense of wonderful, woeful, satisfaction. Peace. And fresh, but adulterated wounds aside, that made him feel worse than ever.

   AR pointed out the lessaloploth coming in for a landing.

   Eggs was up first, despite everything. He saw her clearly now-- Snowman, clinging awkwardly to Krathoid's neck in their casual approach. He did not see Itchy, and the thought of losing him as well would have been... he was not sure. He wanted to feel bad, but how he could possibly feel any worse than he already did.  
   Upon landing, Snowman stumbled off of the creature. Her legs quit on her and she had to catch herself on Eggs and use him as a support. A sense of awful deja-vu struck when there was yet another bloody mess laying limply on Krathoid's back, the thing craning back her neck and nudging it carefully.  
  "Itchy," Eggs said. "Not you, too. Please...."  
   There were no visible injuries, despite the blood. He lay like a doll resting against Krathoid's protruding dorsal spines, unmoving, unconscious, but breathing. _Breathing_.  
  "We never found DD. CD is gone," Snowman said without joy. "Itchy made sure of that. He... he tried to commit murder-suicide. By antlion. He got the 'murder' part of the equation right."  
  "Damn," Crowbar murmured.  
  "But don't worry about poor little Itchy," she added. "He's fine. Stop milking it."  
   Itchy opened his eyes. He sat up and stared back at all those looming over him, opened his mouth, blinked rapidly, then finally he said, "What're you assholes looking at? Shit. If I knew you guys would be here, I wouldn't have gone through with it." He touched his blood-soaked robes, finding Snowman's whip wrapped around his chest. "You... wait. Shit. I'm not. I'm not dead? What the fuck?"  
  "Always grateful, hmm Itchy?" Snowman said, taking back her whip and cracking it safely away, shaking off the blood.  
  "You!" Itchy pointed at her, stammering. "You, you... I can't believe it." His voice lowered and he calmed down. "You saved me... huh. I... didn't think you cared. You sure as hell did nothing to make me think you cared, ever, you goddamn ice queen."  
   She said nothing, even as she knelt down in front of Itchy and retrieved the crowbar, returning it to its owner.  
   AR tentatively said, "Itchy... the blood. Are you hurt? Do you not feel anything?"  
  "Oh, I feel," Itchy said. "I feel... I," he batted Krathoid away, "Annoyed that this thing wont leave me alone! But, other than that... uh. Shit." He twiddled his fingers together, that usual motor mouth of his hesitating as he struggled to say what exactly was on his mind, for once. "I... I feel like sewing something."  
  "...what."  
  "Deuce cried at me," Itchy said with his pointer finger in the air, "all the way to the end, he cried. Cried about how he missed Boxcars, and how he watched Droog die... _he watched Droog die._ And he held him as he did. So I held onto Deuce as we fell into that antlion pit. As he _died_. I feel. Like. Sewing something."  
  "Shit," Crowbar said. "Well... better than Stitch's power being lost to us forever, I guess. Too bad."  
  "Sorry, hon," Snowman whispered. "I tried."  
  "Oh," Itchy said, "Thanks for all your concern, I really fucking appreciate it. Assholes!"  
  "I saved you and you don't feel like we're concerned. Whatever you say," Snowman quietly said.  
   Exasperated, Itchy said, "I don't know what the hell your deal is, Snowy. One moment you offer to shoot me in the head, then... shit. I don't fucking know. Crazy bitch."  
  "Itchy," Eggs said.  
  "What now?"  
  "I'm glad you're alive."  
  "...Oh," Itchy said, looking away. "Th... thanks, Eggs. I guess. Th-that's, that's more like it! Yeah! Yeah...."  
  "Only one effigy left, and that's Slick's," Crowbar said. "Itchy, you wanna test drive that new power of yours?"  
  "-How?" Itchy said. "I don't see a needle anywhere. And this fucking goddamn crap in the air, shit."  
  "Clover," Crowbar said, "you can find a needle and thread someplace on the floor here, can't you? Right. As for the other thing, we'll find a place."

   There was a courtyard near the kitchen. It was a generously sized garden of wonderfully clean air and fruit-bearing flora and herbs, some native, some that must have been from beyond the desert. Little birds and insects fluttered through the trees that climbed like stretching fingers to the tops of the glass enclosure, the ceiling, letting light bleed through breaks in the canopy.  
   A swordsman lay across the cobblestone walkway that led to the rest area. It was curled inside a slick nest of relatively fresh gore, sleeping. The carapace it belonged to was busy dragging herself away from the thing when the group arrived, her progress halted when Crowbar and Snowman stepped in and finished her off. The awakened swordsman, dangerous as it was, stood absolutely no chance and was put down quickly as well, neck constricted by the crack of a whip and head smashed by the crowbar. Carefully, they stepped over Sprinkles' body.  
   After Itchy directed Krathoid away from the displaced organs, in they went, down to the courtyard's rest area. It was a large open space lined with stone and decorations-- snakes and gargoyles and unidentifiable things on pillars, a small fountain which they took advantage of, and a bolted down picnic table. The sight of food in their surroundings motivated Clover-2 to pluck an armfull of berries (some of which he offered to Eggs, which he displayed very little interest in) while Itchy got to work.

   Itchy was unskilled with threads and needles, but he did well enough. Slick's hat was tossed aside as Itchy tore a piece of his robe and wrapped it around the neck of the effigy like an ugly old scarf, and it became his, adopting his state immediately. He caught the leg before it fell off completely. Eggs held the real thing next to his stump as his inexpert hand stitched it back together. This turned out to be unnecessary. It was immensely creepy how the real, disembodied limb moved and attached itself by the hinge of skin on the initial stitch, completely from Eggs' hands and staying there without needing support. It was also very painful; Itchy made this very, very obvious, very loudly.  
   The deep red makeshift bandages fell away, revealing the cleanly sliced bone and muscle, reddened, gross and fattened with swelling and the possible start of infection, bleeding on and off as it continued to be disturbed. But as tissue reconnected, the wound improved. Bleeding halted, swelling and redness reduced until his pale limb, point of severance tattooed with stitches, began to flush with circulated blood again.  
Itchy squirmed and slid off of Krathoid's back, excited and relieved to stand on his own two legs again after what felt like forever. His feet touched down, and he did stand-- for a moment, before his bad leg buckled under him. Eggs was there to catch and hold him up.  
  "Son of a fuck!" Itchy said. "This is bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!"  
   AR frowned. "I would count you lucky to have your leg back at all!"  
  "You're welcome," Clover-2 muttered.  
  "Eggs, fucking," Itchy said, "just help me get back on Krath. I'll fucking, just, ride for a while fucking longer, I guess. Fuck."  
   Eggs nodded and gave Itchy his arm, helping him back onto the lessaloploth. She watched, twisting that neck back, and when Itchy was sat down between her shoulders she touched her beak to his face.  
  "The fuck do you want?" Itchy groaned, trying to push her head away. Within a few seconds, he ended up petting her instead. She shut her eyes and happily let him, pushing her head into his hand like a wanting kitten. "Damn it," he sighed. "Isn't this supposed to be a wild animal? What the fuck is this about?"  
   Meanwhile, Snowman was talking to Crowbar, about the strings, about the strange change in Krathoid, from mindless trained thing to... this. About the possibilities. The implications filled Crowbar with visible joy.  
  "So, Itchy," Crowbar said. "If you're done playing with the new team pet, maybe you don't mind taking care of a little somethin' for Snowy and me."  
  "What?" Itchy said. "Oh. Gee. Shit. You want eyes that aren't freaky and useless, don't you? Fine."  
   Clover-2 cocked his head. "Just like that, you're gonna do it?"  
  "Yeah. Fuck it, why not," Itchy sighed. "I'm in a decent mood. I'll get everyone fixed up best I can and... fuck. I don't know. We can get this goddamn nightmare over with."  
  "You're serious," Crowbar said, astonished. "You're fucking serious?"  
  "Did you go deaf too? I said _yes_! Eggs, you look like shit, I'll get you first, then brighteyes, then...."

   When his world of white and black, shapeless blotches began to change, first came the slightest smears of color. Unsaturated, unrefined, blending together in an unreadable green mishmash that put a strain on his already painful eyes. Then the colors brightened, deepened. The smear gave way, splotches forming, refining. Easing away the blur, the pain, and then, as Itchy finished, there was Eggs, a face he never before thought he could be this happy to see, and Clover-2 staring with anticipation, and the ( _familiar looking_?) carapace that recently joined up their cause. Then, there was Snowman, looking upon him with great anticipation. He knew this new face of hers, though he always remembered her as she was. He found that he did not mind as he reached out and touched her scarred half.  
  "You're beautiful, Snowy," Crowbar whispered. "So fucking beautiful."  
   She gave him the slightest smile and leaned in to kiss his lips.  
  "Damn," Itchy said, "So it didn't work, huh?" He just nearly dodged the crowbar sent flying towards his face. "Fuck in a-- I was kidding!"  
  "Not as good as Stitch was," Crowbar said, blinking rapidly, "might need to look into glasses sometime now, but... well, shit. Thanks, Itchy. Damn it just, thanks. Appreciate it a lot fucking more than I can, than I can even say. Thank you."  
  "Oh," Itchy said, leaning forward. He paused and looked at the floor, trying to pick out how to respond. "Uh. Yeah. You bet."  
   Clover-2 snickered. "I bet hell's nice and frozen over about now."  
   Itchy promptly told Clover-2 to go fuck himself, then offered his services to Snowman.  
  Calmly, she said, "I'm fine."  
  "Yeah, you _were_ fine, once. C'mon, let me-"  
  "I don't want _you_ touching my face."  
  "Alright!" Itchy said, holding up his hands, the needle and thread tucked between two fingers. "Alright, fucking fine. Vigilante? What about you?"  
   AR laughed. "You don't plan on getting a little late revenge on me, do you?"  
  "That depends!" Itchy said, pointing his needle at AR, "are you gonna apologize?"  
  "...For _what_?"  
  "You know what."  
  "For the muggings and murders and public urination? Uh, _no_ ," AR said in a matter-of-factly tone.  
  "Those were all in self-defense!"  
   Clover-2 said, "Oh, just patch him up already, Stitchy!"

   The job done, Itchy shoved the effigy between Krathoid's dorsal spines and relaxed against them like a sort of padded chair, the creature herself laying apparently asleep on the floor. He was no Stitch, the results visually unappealing, but all at least was functional.  
  "Okay, we good now?" Itchy said, stretching his arms. "We ready to fucking do this shit? Needs to come to a damn end."  
  "Yeah," Crowbar said. He strolled out in front of the group, swinging his crowbar against the palm of his hand. "This is it, and it'll be the toughest thing yet, but I know we can pull it off. Spades Slick will be made to answer for all that he's taken from us. For all the ruined heists, all the blood shed, for things we ain't even found out he done yet. If we die in the process, it'll be in a big fucking blaze of glory. We will drag Slick's scrawny ass down to hell with us, meet up with our old friends, and finish the fucking job!"  
  "...Seeing how I've generally stuck to the other side of the law... I don't think I can make that particular meeting," AR said with a sly smile.  
  "Hey," Crowbar said, "I been saving that speech for a while and I ain't changing it just for you. Just go with it."  
  "C-crowbar," Eggs said, his eyes locked on the floor. "I'm... gonna make sure we finish the job and still be breathing after, okay? None of this stuff'll be for nothing. I got people to avenge, too."  
   Crowbar nodded. "Whatever happens, I'm glad you stuck around. But... don't make this kind of thing a habit, alright? You got family in your own timeline to take care of."  
  "Blah blah, alright, what exactly are you planning on doing to a man that can do about fucking anything he wants?" Itchy said. "You gonna egg him until the scratch damage drives him crazy? What?"  
  "He said he was gonna take a 'goddamn nap' earlier, right?" Clover-2 said. "Maybe he's still sleeping, doesn't know what we did yet! So, I'm thinkin' we could pre-empt him, y'know? Can he do much when he's sleeping? Just find a gun and shoot him in the face!"  
  "And have him reflect the bullet back at us," Snowman said. "Yes, he can defend himself while asleep."  
  "Think you're on the right track though," Crowbar said. "Damn, honestly, with you and Eggs on our side, maybe we can just fucking wing it."  
   Footsteps sounded against the stone, from the courtyard entrance, turning everyone's heads. A voice said, "There's no need to completely wing it. I have a few ideas." It was Die, and he was not alone.  
   Eggs was up and in his space immediately. "What're you doing back here?" he demanded. "What-"  
   Crowbar's jaw dropped when he saw whom had accompanied Die. There was Clover, but also, "Cans... _Quarters_. Jesus."  
   Cans stepped aside and let Quarters in, a fucking RPG-32 propped against his shoulder and a satchel of ammo slung across the other. "Crowbar," he nodded in greetings. "Long time no see, apparently."  
   Crowbar approached, nervous, beyond happy. He took Quarters hand in both of his and squeezed briefly, but tightly, before letting go. "Y-yeah. Good to see you. You too, Cans. God _damn_ , you have no idea how fucking good it is to see you."  
  "Happy to help," Cans said. "I... see you have a dinosaur, there. And... the crime fighter that's been targeting us lately. That's.... different."  
   Krathoid clicked her beak and yawned.  
  "Not technically a dinosaur, but... yes," AR said.  
  "Yeah, not a dinosaur," Itchy said, patting Krathoid's neck, "just one of Quart's ancestors."  
  "Good catch," Quarters said, "maybe next we can identify one of _yours_." His glance fell upon a large rodent resting in the bushes. "Ah. That was easy."  
  "Ha, yeah, okay, you got me back. Dick."  
  "What about... what about Sticks? He around?" Crowbar eagerly said. Quarters made the approximation of a frown.  
  "He lit one of our bars on fire. It _may_ have been an accident; could never be quite so sure with him. Either way, the police got off their lazy asses for once and have him in holding. Cro-- our Cro-- went off to take care of it. "  
  "Or join him again," Cans added with a sigh.  
   Though disappointed, hearing such things was wonderfully nostalgic. Crowbar could not help but laugh. "'Nother thing, Quarts... why the hell did you bring that thing?" He pointed at the RPG. "We're kind of _indoors_."  
   Almost shyly, Quarters said, "Well ehh, I had just fixed it up and I wanted to... well-- no worries. Being indoors will not be an issue. Trust me."  
  "Alright. I trust you." He glanced over at Die and the two Clovers, both being practically suffocated by Eggs' embrace. "Hey," Crowbar said, "What's this dramatic entrance and talk about plans, Die?"  
   Die broke away from the group smother. He looked even more sick, struggling to stand on his own two feet, and during that short break he apparently did not have time to clean up. But, the confidence in his voice created quite a dissonance. "I have had a bit of time to think about Slick's powers. I have witnessed them, though not quite in action. He was too busy struggling against them. He can't handle them.  
  "I think that this... magic, that is common in this line, has a very, very close relation to our own time powers. When I was thrown to him like some lamb to slaughter, he was distracted by a very long, painful-looking convulsion. He morphed, shifted involuntarily. Sped up. Slowed down. Disappeared and reappeared. And I saw so many colors. _Our_ colors. And more.  
  "But of course, primarily, these powers are represented by black. Mostly Snowman's territory. Space."  
  "Mostly?" Clover-2 said. "Wait, she has _space_ powers?" Snowman sighed. "Well gee, you never talk about yourself, Snowy!"  
   Die shrugged. "All theories, really. No manual. I said 'mostly' because I believe Stitch's power is space-related as well." Die placed his palms together, "Space folds and overlaps effigy and person, in some kind of teleportation variation. Maybe. It's something that came to mind while he was giving me a once-over earlier."  
  "Fascinating," Itchy sighed. "Now how 'bout getting to the goddamn point you fucking nerd."  
  "I'm _getting_ to it," Die said, raising his voice at Itchy, "shithead," he quietly added. "W-well, anyway, manipulating time cannot come without manipulating space, unless you don't care about things like... rotation. Orbit. Although time isn't really a real, uh, thing to manipulate, doesn't really exist like that. Just the way our minds perceive it. Anyway. So, in order to be of any safe kind of use to organic lifeforms such as ourselves, playing with space means playing with time. The tachyonite dust everywhere mostly stabilizes things... but there's also something very, very wrong about this timeline. Not really sure what... but whatever it is, it might be too much for tachyonite to normalize. And it's affecting Slick. We just... need to find out what it is, and play it up."  
  "So basically," Itchy said, "what you're saying is, 'we should fuck up time'. Yeah. Fucking great. You could've just goddamn said so! Almost fell asleep listening to you ramble on and on and fucking on."  
  "Well, we have been up all night," one of the Clovers said with a yawn.  
  "What if," Eggs said, "it's me? I could mess up time pretty badly, without trying. I kinda do it all the time."  
  "Probably helps," Crowbar said. "Things have been a little wrong here for a while, though. I don't think you run into any _strings_ in your time here, right Die?" Die shrugged, and Crowbar continued. "They came with the meteor, we think. Just a few infected spots scattered here and there. Would hear weird stories and dismiss them as bullshit. But a couple years later," Crowbar shook his head. He then proceeded to describe what they did. Die leaned in, fascinated by the story, hanging on every word, and for once it was not because of the crush he had on him.  
  "I'd love to see for myself," Die said.  
  "No you don't!" Eggs said. "They're... weird."  
  "I... I like weird. Anyway, it seems these, these um, _strings_ are powerful enough little things to at least partially overpower the effects of tachyonite. Maybe if we can find a way to interact with them, find out how they work... we can find a weakness in Slick. What you describe is, is very similar to what I saw when he malfunctioned. Just a shot in the dark, but... I'll, um, need to find a way to play with them, of course."  
  "They're completely intangible," Snowman said. "And very disruptive."  
  "W-wait," Eggs said, "intangi... like... ohhh shit!" he snapped his fingers, then drew out his timer. "Shit, shit, I forgot I could... I learned this, like, thing, from a different me. Shit, how'd it go." As he remembered, he clumsily explained the incident with his simpler self in the previous timeline, during their very one-sided game of tag-- the little 'accident' he came upon that Eggs himself had only recently found, and apparently, very quickly forgotten. Die insisted that Eggs show him.  
  "Can I do that?" Eggs said. "You think if we touch hands it'll do the thing for you?"  
  "Let's find out," Die said, gently gripping his arm. Eggs nodded, pulled the dial out from the timer, and set it for 5 minutes. Much like before, everyone before them became but purple animations, unable to interact or be interacted with. But, Die was with him, and he was fascinated, running his hands through the images like an excited child. "And you learned to do this... when? In that last timeline? Really?"  
  "Y... yeah, what?" Eggs said. "I just never thought to try that before! Crap. Could've been useful if I remembered it earlier, huh? I feel so... stupid."  
   Die shook his head. "What's done is done. What matters is right now."  
  "Why did you come back here?" Eggs said, placing his hands on Die's shoulders, supporting him. "You're barely standing."  
   Die placed his own hands on Eggs' forearms, gently urging them off of him. "I'm not allowed to be stupid sometimes, too? I'm a lot younger than I look. Don't give me so much credit. Now, we can talk about this later. Let's finish what you started here. Show me strings."  
   There were two locations known by Eggs: In the canyon where the Syndicate could still be looking for him, or, apparently, under the castle. As he explained, he caught something moving from the corner of his eye, a man passing then returning to the courtyard entrance. Spades Slick was not sleeping. He was pissed. And he had found them.  
   The images of their companions reacted accordingly, taking defensive postures. Even Krathoid stood up on all fours, aggressively (silently) clicking her beak. Slick stamped towards them, pointing and shouting, brandishing a rapier. He paused when he came near Eggs and Die, then looked directly at them. His purple tint solidified to black-- he was there, with them in that instant, a puissent tentacle emerging from his body and wrapping itself around Eggs' neck.  
  "How did you do it?" Slick demanded. "They're all dead, how? _How could you do it_?" he shouted, squeezing that tentacle tighter and tighter until a flash and a bang struck the thing. It dissolved from the point of impact, slinking back into Slick's body as he screamed in pain. Die shot him again, aiming now for the body but Slick flashed with a perfectly form-fitting barrier, bright purple quickly fading back to invisibility. The bullet ricocheted into Eggs. Die issued a quick apology, and Eggs grabbed him and slammed the timer dial back into place.  
   Slick followed them back into the corporeal realm and did a quick scan of the room.  
  "You fuckers! You... Snowy," he snorted. "You really are alive, but your good looks didn't hold up too well. Let me put them outta their misery!"  
   He raised his rapier and swung wildly at everyone in his proximity. Crowbar, eager to put his new sight to use, parried the blows with his crowbar as Snowman tried to whip at his arms. Cans was in the fray, slamming down and throwing fists, hitting either air or barrier, blasting them away, leaving a few open seconds before he regenerated them. And Quarters-- while it would have been far from wise to fire a grenade launcher in this cluster of friendly bodies-- instead used the weapon as a bludgeon, timing his hits with Cans. AR found the rhythm as well, landing punches and kicks and ducking and rolling out of Slick's counter attacks. All the while, Clover-2 wished them luck. There was only so much of this before Slick sent out a wave of energy, sending everyone flying backwards.  
  "You fucking idiots!" Slick said, arms extended like an invitation, wearing now a black eye and cracked carapace but still going strong. "Look at me! Look at this ridiculous fucking power! I'm fucking glowing like a sun... but if it was a blacklight! A blacklight sun! You're like mysterious cumstains ruining my sheets, only the cum is blood, and... uh. Nevermind, forget that. Just look at this shit!" he pointed at Cans and telekinetically lifted him in the air, effortlessly throwing him into a tree and partway uprooting it. "And check this fucking shit out!" he said as he gestured at Quarters, whom was running at him. Slick combed his fingers down through the air and Quarters collapsed under his own, sudden mass. "Come on! Do you really want to fuck with me? I'm open for business, and you're my first customers, _motherfuckers_!"  
 "Go do your thing!" Crowbar said to Eggs and Die as he stumbled back up onto his feet. "Figure something out! We'll keep him busy."  
  "You're not finding more strings without me!" Itchy said, bringing Krathoid around.  
  "I'm going too!" Clover said. "The other me's got this one. You ought to leave a copy behind too, Eggsy! I know you don't want to, but--"  
  "I'll do it!" Eggs said, adjusting his timer with a _RIING RIING_ that got an audible curse from Slick. The newly cloned, bleeding Eggs piped in with, "I'll deal with it later! They need me!" and proceeded to clone himself further.  
  "Under the castle is too fucking dangerous," Itchy said, "we'll be overloaded-- I know Die and Clover don't weigh much but we got the effigy too and shit adds up and there's balance too-- fuck we don't need to fall out of goddamn mid air fucking with this shit."  
  "So, the canyon?"

   The many Eggs protected Krathoid as she carried the group out the exit, running on all fours with noticeable effort, struggling with tipping and slipping. But, she made it to the infirmary. As she hesitated at the edge of the destroyed floor, Itchy guided her, aimed her towards the closest, safest looking ledge of rock. The stolen Syndicate motorcycle could be seen not too far away, resting still on the dune where it was left. Making a weak leap, Krathoid haphazardly glided from floating rock to rock, like a frog across lilly pads, until making one last leap, the longest stretch, from rock to (mostly) solid ground.  
   As soon as he could, Eggs climbed back up onto that bike. As Itchy helped him start it up again, Eggs got the equipment ready, and helped Die and Clover up onto the seats. Die sat before him, and Clover before Die.  
  "You can drive this thing?" Clover said.  
  "Yeah, kinda!"  
  " _Kinda_?" Die said, but his voice was drowned out by the roar of the engine.  
Itchy and Krathoid chased them from the air as they winded back down towards the canyon, the winged shadow hanging over them, keeping pace easily. Eggs allowed himself to enjoy the ride, for the time being, to forget, until Itchy opened his mouth again.  
   <<I really fucking hope this shit actually leads somewhere. Somewhere that doesn't suck for us,>> Itchy said.  
   Eggs glanced down at Clover. <<C'mon. Look who we got on our side!>>  
  "That's the spirit!" Clover shouted.  
   Eggs slowed to a crawl at the entrance of the canyon and removed his helmet. It was early still and the heat was not so awful. There was, however, plenty of floating dust, and the shining black ribbons deeper inside of the cave, glimmering in the little shafts of light falling through the cracks. Just behind him, Krathoid made a gentle landing and ambled up beside the bike. Die reared up in his seat in an attempt to get a better view of the strings.  
Said Eggs, "The dust? How're we...." Itchy thought a moment, then commanded Krathoid to rear up and bat her wings, clearing the air around them. "Oh. Okay."  
   Once within the thick of it, Eggs helped Die to the ground. Itchy and Krathoid would make sure there was no interference as Eggs and Die and also Clover popped into this other state of existence.  
It was unsettling how the strings remained completely unchanged, unsettling. Die looked like a kid in a candy store.  
  "So, what do we do?" Clover said as he attempted to kick at a rock, his foot passing right through it and taking him by surprise. "This is so weird! You could do this the whole time, Eggsy?"  
  "Uh, _apparently_ ," Eggs shrugged. "Crap, I don't know. Die? This stuff sounded good coming out of your mouth, but yeah, what next?"  
  "W-well, we're here now," Die said, reaching towards one of the strings. "Let's just, um, experiment." He poked at the thing, jamming a finger in and pushing it forward slightly. The interaction seemed to agitate the string, rotating faster and vibrating and morphing with little bubbles and ripples. Die paused as if in a momentary trance. He shook his head and came out of it no worse for wear. "That was weird."  
  "Yeah, they're weird." Eggs said. "I already told you that!"  
   Clover snatched one of the strings, holding it with both hands as it squirmed like a wild animal. He flickered and stood up straight with wide, surprised eyes. "...Y'know, I bet if we stuck a bunch of them together, it'd make a sweet massage chair."  
  "Shit, yeah!" Eggs said.  
   Die agreed, though for more (de)constructive reasons. Carefully, Die and Clover moved with intent to touch their two strings together. The things resisted as if surrounded by a magnetic field, and this was not the only cause for hesitation. An overwhelming sense of dread took them as they brought the things closer, compounded with the discomfort of physical string contact.  
  "Wait," Clover said, "there's something... wrong? I don't... know. Should we really be doing this? I kissed you guys on the way over here, didn't I?"  
  "In retrospect, maybe... should have tracked down Fin," Die said.  
  "That creepy prick wouldn'tve helped out anyway!" Clover said. "Okay, uh, well, whatever's not good for us, isn't good for Slick either! Besides. Luck. We got luck. Let's hope these things are nothing like a certain cake!" Clover took in a deep breath and looked to Die for approval. He nodded. "Let's try it! Help us push 'em together, Eggsy."

   Slick cried out, his tentacles and barrier dissolving as he clutched his body. AR jumped in and introduced his fist to Slick's face, hitting him hard enough to draw blood. As AR landed a second punch, Slick suddenly vanished, sending AR to the floor. He reappeared, standing on the man's back. Slick's shocked expression and wild eyes indicated that this was not intentional. A lapse of attention, momentary confusion, netted him some additional damage, bringing him back to reality just in time to put up his shielding-- halfway through Quarters striking the side of his head with the RPG-32. With a _crack_ and a _thud_ Slick tumbled over AR and joined him on the floor. He rolled to avoid Eggs and Crowbar and Snowman but her whip extended with a flexible shadow blade reaching and slicing into his chest. Slick countered by lashing out at all of them with a spray of shadow knives, then kicked his legs and rose up, his barrier flickering back into stability. Breathing heavy, teeth bared. _Fuck, that's right, I was...._ He raised his unglowing hands and from them shadows rose and coalesced into a large semi-solid form behind him.

   Clover, Die and Eggs were propelled out of their immaterial state, startling Itchy and Krathoid. Clover clutched his chest, blossoming red while Die had curled himself into a fetal position, the side of his face nearly unrecognizable with blood and bruise and swelling. Eggs hardly felt the ache in his nose upon seeing the state of his friends, hearing Clover cry out in a confused panic off to his sideand Die groaning unable to say anything.  
  "Holy fucking shit, what did you do!" Itchy said, sliding off of Krathoid and falling to his knees. "Shit, shit, shit." He reached up and dragged the effigy and supplies down to the ground with him.  
  "I-I, I don't know!" Eggs said. Clover sat up and spread his bloodied arms, eyes wide and tearing and mouth opened and babbling until he too saw Die, awkwardly rising up on his side with half of his face practically gone.  
   Eggs made haste, half crawling half running to him.  
  "Well don't go thinking I'm your goddamn nurse, okay? I'm not doing this shit all day!"  
  "Yes you are!" Clover shouted frantically. "You're doing it as long as we need, Stitchy! Now shut up and do your job!"  
  "Fuck you!" he said, despite demanding a piece of Die's clothing promptly after.  
   Die spat blood. "I'm... okay. I think I'm okay."  
  "I-I-I," Clover stuttered and took in a deep breath, "I think I'm okay too I just never, I, this was, it's just on the surface but oh god it stings so bad and the blood, I never, never... oh god oh shit if that was _lucky_ then oh shit."  
  "Quit being so fucking dramatic and give me something to work with," Itchy said, propping the effigy up on a rock. "Die, you don't look fucking okay, c'mon hurry up I'm fixing --quit your bitching, midget! Jesus."  
   As Itchy began working, the strings they had merged together suddenly appeared as one large, a living seizure of flashing colors, vibrating, bending the space around it. They could feel a shift in gravity as if trying to pull them in, even from the distance it had blasted them out from.  
  "We're not doing that again," Eggs murmured.  
  "We have to," Die said, every word dripping with pain. "I, I saw it. I saw _them_. We-we just, got, caught in the crossfire. But it's hurting Slick. We can do it."  
   Clover took in a deep breath, calming himself a little more. "I, I think I saw it too. Yeah."

   The Hearts Boxcars construct proved about as formidable as the real thing, physically. Merely, it was a puppet acting on the subconscious will of its creator. Slick had never made constructs specifically for combat before (combat of this sort), and while he was an expert in the stabbing arts, using polearms and large bludgeons proved a bit different. Still deadly, but somewhat clumsy, the construct accidentally landed hits more often than not. It worked well enough, running through swaths of Eggs, clashing against Quarters and Crowbar, bouncing attacks with their weapons, as they all pushed forward. All the while, Slick's barrier remained up, an ever-present bulwark, as he stood behind his construct to catch his breath. Shadow axes swung like the blades of a blender, faltering too-- enough to leave blind spots. Slick's continuing episodes left the puppet vulnerable, and falling apart. Before its complete meltdown, Slick called it back and converted that energy into knives, knives, more knives, flung outwards like a flurry of arrows.  
   The blades that made impact with flesh split and twisted inside before fizzling, leaving gaping wounds like little mouths. Cans caught the worst of it. Painful though it appeared, Cans did not falter. He raised his bleeding arm to his mouth and lapped up the blood looking much like a wounded cat, but the taste triggered something in him. Eyes went wild, fists clenched like vices. He cried out as he flew into a rage, pushing past Crowbar and Quarters and destroying the picnic table and disregarding Slick's continuous stabbing efforts.  
  "Oh _shit_ no."  
   He was slammed hard into a clutch of bushes, scattering a flock of songbirds. Dizzy and shaking, Slick rose up and saw through the wall of wings that Cans, bearing a crazed face, had lost no momentum. Nearly upon him again, he panicked and whipped a tentacle out at his feet, tripping Cans and almost crushing Slick. He skipped backwards and swept that tendril, now coated in rotating spines, across the floor. One swipe to the right, (most managed the jump) then one to the left like a dog wagging its tail. Cans snatched the tentacle and tugged Slick forward and onto his face.  
The tentacle shrunk back into him, retracting with a snap. A moment's concentration and gravity's pull followed the sweep of his arm, sending the Felts stumbling and sliding to the side as if on a rocking boat. Horizontally they fell through tree and brush and sculpture, pinning them like magnets to whatever solid surface did not give way. Crowbar caught Snowman under his arm, wrapped about her waist, as he hooked his crowbar into the nook of a tree. A few calmer moments later, and a bird perched on Crowbar's weapon, treating it like a metal branch.  
  "Real cute," Snowman sighed.  
   The sight of those two together like that created conflicting feelings in Slick. He did not even want her. He did not _need_ her. _Fuck her._ (He must remind himself again) He spotted Clover-2 clinging by his fingertips to a crack in the floor and decided that he would focus his bile rage on the little shit instead. Slick let up the gravity spell, which was difficult and draining anyway. As the little Felt stood up, he doubled up his shielding, placing the new layer not around himself, but Clover-2, forming a needle-lined bubble. Trapped, he stood still with hands and legs spread, feet positioned just so that they were safely (but not comfortably) between the spines.  
 _Oh, of course_ , Slick scowled and attempted to extend the protrusions. Getting this shit to pass through a living person was always harder than it had any right to be, but he could do it, if not for the sudden involuntary spasms interrupting his concentration. The needles trembled scarily, randomly extending though none that did had passed directly through Clover-2, brushing him, missing him entirely. Slick regained himself enough to paw at the air, spinning the spikes within the barrier.  
   Clover practically danced inside it. _Oh come the fuck on!_  
   The other Felts did not let this distraction pass. There were multiple Eggs in his space, much to his alarm. They managed to get a few hits in before Slick released Clover-2 and blasted them all away from him. Slick turned his glance towards the windows and shoved a number of tentacles through them, raining glass, whipping the ends about, consciously pulling the tachyonite dust inside.  
  "Alright fuckers time to play life on hard mode," Slick said, breathing heavy. "You're all dead you're all so fucking dead! Dead! Dea-ohshit."  
   Quarters had forced himself up, his gun propped on his shoulder. AR loaded it for him, and it was aimed and ready and _fired_. Slick retracted his tentacles and slowed the grenade but he was not in time and it blasted him far into the bushes and trees, setting much of the garden ablaze.  
  "You just couldn't fucking resist playing with your new toy, could you?" Crowbar shouted.  
  "Are you on fire? _No_?"  
   Suddenly like a spirit through the wall of smoke and flame, Cans' fist pounded Slick into the dirt. His barrier remained in place but the blunt damage still dug him deeper into the ground, still _hurt_ and painted him with blood-- not his own, he realized after a momentary freak out, as he recalled Cans grabbing a fistfull of thorny tentacle-- and even altering his barrier with more of the sharp shadowy spikes did nothing to deter him.  
   Cans gripped Slick's leg and threw him against a tree, and would have snatched him back up again and continued had Slick not shifted gravity and sent them all up into the air, the Felts, the leaves and sticks and animals and shattered glass. The fire smothered itself out, leaving only the smoke.  
   Another convulsion struck and he lost purchase of his magic completely. Slick vanished before the falling debris could hit him, returning directly on top of them, broken glass and all. The groaning, twitching bodies of the people that he dropped lay scattered before him. As he tried to stand, he realized he was far more hurt than he believed, breathing labored, teeth missing (he ran his tongue over the gaps), blood and chipped shell painting him, legs weak, forcing him to use a tentacle as a cane. He cursed under his breath, his body wanting to curl and tear itself apart and send him to fuck knows where _so much screaming and the colors so many colors strange fucking colors jesus christ how long was I there this time it's getting longer fuck fuck fuck i hate time travel_  
   He was fairly certain he changed sex at some point as well but this was the least of his concerns.  
And as Slick looked over at the carnage, for a moment... he allowed himself to think of his crew. He missed them. And if they were here with him now all together united this would have been over so much sooner with so much less damage.  
   But, he would fully deal with all of that later. They were not corpses quite yet.  
   Especially not Crowbar.  
   He was running at him, awkwardly but _running_ , and a badly timed episode allowed him to get in close and pin him to a tree, pressing his crowbar deeply as he could manage into Slick's neck.  
   They locked eyes, the hate tangible in Crowbar's as he pressed harder and harder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Snowman, laying across the room with her eyes locked on him, her body trembling as she lifted herself up onto her knees and pulled back her unglowing arm, her magic-infused whip. She cracked it and it extended far, snaking around Slick's hands and holding them up over his head. She held him there, letting Crowbar choke him.  
   He was nearly completely drained and every action wanted to fight against him, but giving up was no option. He stabbed Crowbar. One tentacle, flying forward from his torso and into Crowbar's, slithering through and out his back, passing as if his flesh was butter and sliding up to wrap around his neck. It did not phase him.  
  "Crowbar," Snowman whispered, the slightest hint of desperation escaping her voice. Slick loved that.  
   Inhaling tightly, he said, "Hope you enjoyed the bitch while you had the chance. Great tits and pussy, right?"  
  "Fuck you," Crowbar gasped. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!"  
   Spasms. Again with the spasms, running through him like electricity like his limbs did not belong to his body. The tentacle slunk back into him, leaving Crowbar open and shocked as Slick began flickering, disappearing, fading, shrinking. An arm curled around the hole in his torso, Crowbar raised his weapon and brought it down on Slick's morphing head, then again, and again and again _and again AND AGAIN_ until beyond bloodied, beyond recognizable, he disappeared and failed to return.  
   Crowbar collapsed.

   A smear of blood, a few teeth and pieces of carapace were all that remained of Spades Slick in this realm, alive, dead, or something else entirely, they could not know. But he was gone. Snowman crawled to Crowbar and cradled his unconscious, reddened body. The others simply lay where they were in the layers of debris, too exhausted or injured to move.  
   The sounds of birds and insects returned, and eventually, so did Itchy. He rode Krathoid down the path and into the destroyed rest area.  
  "Hey, _La Resistance._ We gotta get the fuck out of here," Itchy said, answered only by noncommited groans. "Hey. Hey! You fuckers aren't all dying, are you? Fucking walk it off! I have hand cramps like you don't even goddamn know."  
  "Shut the fuck up, Itchy," Snowman said with a low voice, lifting and inclining her head at him. "Just do your job. You have hand cramps? Poor baby. Try a hole in your stomach, try having a knife shoved and twisted into your tit, try having to _listen to you bitch all day_. Do. Your. Job."  
  "My job," Itchy groused, pulling the effigy over his lap, "yeah, sure, this is my fucking _job_ now, huh? Christ, look at you all...."  
   One of the surviving Eggs propped himself up on his arms, eyes darting around the room. "Where are--?"  
  "Your _boyfriend's_ alive. Chill," Itchy said.

   At the entrance of the canyon, Eggs and Die and Clover lay against a shady rock, watching the gigantic oscillating string pulsing and glowing deep inside like a dysfunctional night light. Reality bled. Phantoms ebbed at the edges of the haze the string created. Rock wall expanded and contracted and melted like heated plastic. Strange smells wafted past.  
   They lay there together, watching, haphazardly stitched up with skin and clothing still caked with blood, bruises forming and fuck knows what else.  
  "Not just a concussion, right?" Die said. "You're seeing it, too?"  
  "Yeah," Clover said. "Might be a concussion too, though."  
  "So... we did good?" Eggs said. "Or...."  
   Behind them, a cloud smoked and burned like tinder.  
  "Uh," Clover said with a nervous laugh, "Look," he pointed at the string, "is it growing? I think it's growing! And we aren't even-- yeah. We definitely fucked up time. And space. Everything's fucked up, guys. We sure did good at _that!_ "  
   Die tilted back his head and shut his eyes. "Well, as long as we get our-"  
  "-family-" Eggs said over him.  
  "...family, out, then, it's not our problem."  
   Clover snorted and leaned against Die. "That's cold-blooded, man!"  
  "I don't care," Die said with a smile, almost singing his words. "I hate this place. I hate this place so fucking much. It needs to shrivel up and die and I'm fucking glad we kickstarted that process. Fuck this place."  
  "Me too," Eggs nodded. "Fuck this place."  
  "Yeah," Clover said, raising palm to the others. "Fuck this place and the train it rode in on! Let it burn! Not before we get out, but yeah! After that!"  
   The string seemed to pulse on cue with the two ensuing high fives.

   Crowbar sharply inhaled, awaking in the arms of Snowman, painted with blood and aching like hell. He was alive. He could see (Snowman smiled at him _damn she was beautiful especially right now)_. Slick was gone. He was not dreaming.  
  "What?" Itchy demanded when he noticed Crowbar tilting his neck, looking his way. "I know I'm good looking but your woman's _right there_." Before Crowbar could say a word, Itchy intercepted with, "yeah yeah, I know, _shut the fuck up_. So fucking predictable! You should know those words don't do shit by now. Okay who else is fucked up? Snowy, you sure you don't want me to patch that face up? C'mon, let me-"  
   Quarters, curled up in a loose, heavily-bleeding ball said, "Oh, I could be dying here, but take your time."  
  "I might just," Itchy said. "Smartass. Don't think I forgot that you called me a fucking rat."  
  "I never said that," Quarters said. " _Directly_."  
   Crowbar threatened Itchy, demanding that he fix Quarters. With an exasperated groan, he complied, guiding Krathoid towards him to collect a piece of clothing. She collected it for him, picking his hat up from off the floor beside him, playing with it before Itchy could snatch it away from her. Clover-2, whom accumulated the least amount of damage, able to stand and walk at least, approached and asked for more details on the string situation. Sprinkled with the usual amount of bitching, Itchy told them everything, that Die and Eggs and Clover were waiting, resting. Ready to go home.  
   And, of course, that they successfully fucked up time.  
  "So what the fuck do you plan on doing now?" Itchy asked Crowbar. "You got your revenge, looks like. You happy? You feel better now, big man?"  
  "Yeah, actually," Crowbar said.  
  "Oh. Well good for fucking you then," Itchy said. "Have you ever seen flaming clouds before? You're gonna see a lot more of that kinda shit if you stay here. Maybe next we'll get shadows that eat people or fucking piss for rain. You want that? Flaming clouds pissing on our heads? And that'll just be the beginning! Our. Timeline. Is. Fucked. You get that? You understand that shit? We're all fucked, Crowbar! That price fucking worth it for you?"  
  "...Yep. I'm happy."  
  "Jesus fucking christ you're fucking crazy...."  
  "I uh," Crowbar said, looking up at Snowman. She did not seem quite as enthused about the idea, and in fact had been gently shaking her head at him. "Might have liked to settle down with you, though. A house. A dog. Black and green kids...."  
   She smiled and rolled her eyes. "I don't think so, hon."  
  "...maybe figure out how to bring the gang back, for real. S... souls and everything. Tame some of these dinosaurs and knock over more banks than ever...."  
   AR hesitantly said, "I'm starting to remember why I was hunting you people down."  
  "Shit," Crowbar sighed. "I wish... that's the one thing. I wish we could just bring them... I wonder how much time we have."

   When they all were well enough, Itchy made the back and fourth trips for Eggs, Die and Clover. Both times he returned, he was sure the rend had gotten a little worse. Krathoid refused to even look at the thing and Itchy had to calm the overwhealming panic in her whenever she became aware of it. When first taking back Clover and Die, Itchy relayed that question back, _how much time_.  
   <<It's a slow burn,>> Die curtly said. <<But who knows. Or cares.>>  
  <<Gee, I wonder who would care about that kinda thing,>> Itchy said. <<Considering how _someone_ is a huge fucking faggotpricksonofashit who wont let _someone_ jump ship despite, y'know, _saving their life?_ >>  
  <<Quarters called you a rodent earlier. Accurate. I don't need rodents on my ship.>>  
  <<You don't own that timeline so quit acting like you do!>>   "Children, don't make me turn this pterodactyl around!" Clover shouted.  
  <<Stay out of this! And you're not even driving! Riding! Whatever, fuck you!>>

   Crowbar knew where many of the bodies were. Snowman knew how to bring them back, broken, but back. The alert, curious pterosaur that emerged from an organic machine provided hope. And then, Clover-2 offered to stay.  
  "I got nothing better to do," he said. "Your friends will be back alive an' kicking and then..." he brought out that voodoo doll.  
  "Shit, Clover," Crowbar smiled. "I... appreciate that. A whole fuckin' lot." He looked over at Quarters, that grin growing. "Quarts... was good working with you again, more or less. Missed you and Sticks all these years. Gonna miss you til we get this sorted out. ...Still miss you."  
   Quarters, using his RPG to support most of his weight, shrugged and opened up one arm. "Come here."  
He did not care that people were watching. He hugged the shit out of Quarters. At that same moment, Clover-2 and Die silently did the same, their goodbyes already long ago said.

   Eggs and his surviving clones stood face to face, awkward now, that emotional wound still fresh and bleeding in them all. Itchy's cruel words were rooted in the back of their minds, but also his more reassuring ones, and the memories --spirits, he preferred to think of them as spirits _it helps_ \-- of all his other selves, clear as a bell. They all came to the same conclusion at once, without needing a single word between them. _We'll live on, somehow. We'll never really die.  
   We'll be okay_.  
  "Hey, Eggs," Crowbar said, placing a hand on Eggs' arm. "You were goddamn amazing. Thank you."  
  "Yes, Eggs," Snowman slowly said, "...thank you."  
   Hearing a _thank you_ from Snowman sent a thrill through his heart. He could have sworn he had at least a dozen of them crowding his chest right then.

   AR stood away, unsure of where he stood with these men now, perfectly aware of the timeline's state. Perfectly aghast that they did not care. Gratitude and common sense fought with his sense of justice, causing him to simply sneak out rather than try anything foolish. Punishment would not undo the oncoming end this _thing_ that frightened him to his very core, this thing he was powerless to stop, how could he let this happen? While he could never forgive himself, he would not allow them to simply get away with this, though he was likely never to see the actual perpetrators ever again. At the very least, he could do something about the accomplices. AR would find a way. He would make it right.

   Itchy sat on Krathoid, watching Cans and Quarters and Eggs and Clover and Die. They all had finished their goodbyes, ready to leave. Home.  
  "Ain't you gonna say nothin'?" Crowbar whispered, startling Itchy.  
  "Don't fucking sneak up behind me, asshole," Itchy snapped.  
  "Itchy," Crowbar said, gently tapping his head with the crowbar, "you've been a big help. I know Die don't like you, but I'm sure he appreciates what you did, even if you bitched about it the entire time. Maybe he can't admit it you did good, maybe you fucked yourself again by pulling some awful shit back there, I don't know. But, whatever went on, thanks again. For the... you know." He tapped the side of his head, near his eyes. "I'll always remember what you did. If you stay with us, _help us out_... maybe I can convince our new Clover to help you out."  
  "Oh," Itchy said, suddenly subdued. "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah well, that's good and all, but don't get used to me cleaning up your messes," he said, kicking at Krathoid and urging her forward. "Hope you know where the real Stitch is buried."  
   As Die retrieved his doll, those Felts from his timeline each placing a hand on him, as he raised that pin and prepared to sink it in Krathoid burst in and snapped her beak at Die's ass.

   Off they went.

 

_Alarmed, Die rapidly turned and nearly fell over when Krathoid spread her wings and leaped into the familiar skyscraper-lined sky. He could hear Itchy laughing at him, mocking him. Initially incensed, Eggs' shaking head, that little squeeze of his hand, calmed him enough to let it go.  
   There in the filthy decrepit back alley they landed in was a dead prostitute, and her murderer was caught under Cans' foot. A stomp in the right place, and that was taken care of. The sun was up and sandy wind blasted through the backway but dear god it was just sand,_ normal sand _, and the sky was clear, so beautiful, and the birds flying above them really were birds.  
   Stepping out from the shade and into the beating sun, Quarters knew where they were. The mansion was far. It did not matter. They were home. Too exhausted to make the journey, to hunt for some easy target of a vehicle that would even fit all of them, they walked to the nearby motel, shambled, like zombies.  
   Die said to the woman at the front desk, "What kind of rooms can we get for," he raised a gun to her head, "this much?"  
  "Son of a--" she nearly reached for the gun under her desk, then she realized the biggest of the men was cracking his knuckles and one of them had a fucking_ grenade launcher _and she was not paid nearly enough to deal with this shit.  
   Cans and Quarters each got their own rooms, the largest available. It was obvious that the previous occupants had been kicked out early. The both of them would head home later that day.  
   Eggs, Clover and Die shared a large bed, snuggled together fully clothed, completely filthy with dirt and grime and old blood. Over the blankets they lay, simply having strolled in and collapsed there the moment that bed was spotted, even failing to lock the door. Quarters had come in after his rest to wake them, but thought against it, instead draping an extra sheet over them and drawing a map on a napkin.  
  "Rest well. You deserve it."  
  "They're doing okay?" Cans said from beyond the door. Quarters nodded.  
  "Everything will be alright. More concerned about_ you _. What the fuck_ was _that?"  
  "What was what?"  
  "The way you fought. I had never seen you so...."  
  "I'm in a gang for a reason, Quarters. I know what the inside of a cell looks like. Did I scare you?"  
  "No, of course n... well...."_

_They slept, and slept, all day and all through the night, waking in a sleepy daze periodically only to adjust and rest again._

_The next day Die awoke, confused, and more well-rested than he ever thought possible. In pain, but_ rested. _Light snuck in through the open window-- the sun was high, it was afternoon. His eyes hurt. Then he realized that he was home. Not in his room, but the_ nightmare is over _. He stretched and sat up-- god it was hard to sit up-- and found that he was the only bed's occupant.  
  "C... clover? Eggs?" he said, his voice cracking, despair and uncertainty returning until_

_until the door opened and in came Eggs with a tray precariously balanced with tons of food, and Clover with a tray of drinks. Using his elbow, Eggs swept the lamp and phone off the dresser and placed his tray there and plopped down next to Die, Clover following suit.  
  "I told you I'd get you to eat breakfast one of these days, right?"  
   Die smiled wiped away the little tear welling up in his eye. "Y... yeah."_

_It was difficult for Die to walk. He had to allow Eggs to carry him, to sling him over his one shoulder while Clover rode the opposite. Still so tired and pained, walking to the mansion was not going to be fun. Then out of the corner of his eye, Eggs spotted a motorcycle parked at one of the motel rooms, large with thick desert treads. The key was stupidly still in the ignition._


	6. BONDS

" _Welcome back to MCENR FM, this is Garrulous Presenter with_ Newstorm _! As body parts continue to wash up on the shores of Oasis lake, eye-witnesses have observed a new,_ very _interesting piece of the gruesome puzzle. A_ large _animal resembling an extinct species of pterosaur has been spotted over the skies of Oasis and its surrounding area. No, seriously. I know, right? Haha, wow. No, the witnesses weren't drunk! There's pictures all over the papers, pick one up, go ahead, look! Okay, uhh... okay actually according to this article, some of the witnesses were pretty shitfaced, but still. And one of them ended up dead, 'cause y'know, people are still getting killed down there. Why are people still hanging out there? Probably because they're drunk. Dumbasses."_  
  Struggling against dehydration, Die, Eggs, Biscuits, Clover, Sawbuck too sat in the hot garage with their new motorcycle. Whatever empty spaces could be shoved into existence were stuffed with rotating electric fans, circulating hot air. The rest of the house fared not much better.  
  Eggs was bent over the owner's manual as Sawbuck helped him better understand this machine, providing what tips he could between great gulps of water.  
  "I used to ride all the time," he said, "Er, well... when I was younger. All the stunts I did... that chopper got me _so much_ tail.. And ...uh... some court ordered payments... jail time. Broke out, stole and crashed a truck containing five tons of pink glitter... still picking little bits outta my...." he scratched his neck and flicked something pink and glinting from his fingers.  "Worth it," he said.  
  Biscuits was painting details on the bike, having already sprayed over the base. From white, to white and purple with a green dragon on one side, curled around the bike in a serpentine pattern. He was focused on his painting, decorating the bike with a surprising amount of competence to all those but Eggs. The other side of the vehicle was covered in Clover's painted-on good luck symbols, looking as if a leprechaun had shat on it. There was no kissing involved, but he expressed his hopes that luck would carry over regardless. And Die-- he had his death journal, writing and resting with his friends after a work-related outing. He was still filthy with blood and grime. Cleaning himself up was generally something he did because Crowbar or someone else with some pull told him to.  
   " _In other news, the owner-- ahem, I mean the daughter of the owner of the stolen '44 gold Crotchrocket Sentryworm has upped the reward money from $25 to $27.53. I mean, what, did she find some extra change in her couch? That's a weird number. Uh, if found, please contact Hysterical Teenager at--"_  
  "Y'know what we shoulda done?" Clover said, "return the bike, take the money, then steal back the bike!"  
  "Oh oh," Biscuits said, accidentally flicking paint onto Clover, "then, we could tell her dad, and ask for more money! We'll buy, like, a couple pizzas."  
  Sawbuck said, "She's not gonna have more money than that. Ask for a blow... uh... what?"  
  "Wow, you guys are mean!" Eggs said. "You don't gotta tell her dad. He'll find out on his own anyway. 'Specially if he listens to the news. And, and... Clove', it's not _the bike_. Her name is _Bacon._ "  
  "...Bacon? Really?"  
  "Yes really!"  
  " _'_ Vigil _', as local fans have begun to call him, is up to more heroic shenanigans-- including the aforementioned lake murders. Last night's Battle of the Bands featured such acts as_ The _,_ Vest-Proof Bullet, _and_ Magic Cool Bus, _but who actually won is up in the air. The_ Midnight Crew _signed up as a late entry, and the stage, thanks to some mishaps with a TV antenna, eventually became a bloodbath. I don't know if Vigil was in the audience or was just following them, but man, I was at that show and shit got real crazy! Maaaan. And you know what, I'm not gay, but... Vigil has a fierce ass. More on these stories after the break!_  
  _"Here at Crotchrocket Turbo Brothers, we pride ourselves in our luscious vibrating seats, oh and cool bikes too, that's...."_  
  Die leaned over and turned the radio knob, surfing, searching for music that everyone would agree on. This would take a little time and arguing, some _I love this song/I hate this song/Your taste in music is kinda gay/_ You're _gay!!_  
  Flipping between stations and dealing with all this whining was a welcome relief from the bullshit they had just finished recovering from.  
  
  Time had healed most wounds. Physical ones were easier. Eggs had ridden in with Die and Clover, each covered in such haphazard stitching that they looked more like ragdolls than people. He parked just outside the manor's door and stumbled into the boutique like a zombie, both his friends slung over his shoulders like sacks. The ugly job left Stitch less than thrilled. They each took a chair and let Stitch examine them.  
  "Jesus fucking christ. I'll have to redo this," he said, scrutinizing the three, running his fingers over the stitches. "That... _other_ Itchy did just good enough to keep you alive, I suppose, but it looks like a damn rushed job. Ain't healing up too pretty." Stitch turned and faced Doze, sitting off to the side, forgotten once these three had strolled in. "Sorry, kid. The suit'll have to wait a bit longer."  
  "Oh, that's fine," Doze said, crossing his arms, "I've only been waiting since forever, but yeah, fine. Ignore me."  
Clover clutched at Stitch's pants. "You can fix it, right? Right? Oh god, I'm not gonna have scars am I?"  
  Annoyed, Stitch kicked him off. "It's about damn time you got a few scars anyway. And don't question my abilities."  
  "I got plenty of scars!" Clover shouted. "I-I... you'll fix it?"  
  "Yeah," Stitch said. "Ain't gonna be perfect, but it'll be a hell of a lot better. Christsakes... what the fuck were you idiots even doing? Why didn't you come back here soon as possible?" He gave Die a dirty look. "And you... just... damn. _Idiots_."  
  Clover said nothing, looking away and hugging his chest. Die sat silently with his head hung, but more out of exhaustion than anything else. Whether or not he even heard Stitch was questionable.  
  "I'm the idiot," Eggs said, "And I had, had r... reasons. So uh, is that gonna hurt? Redoing all the stitching?"  
  "Oh yeah."  
  "Can I get drunk and talk to Biscuit first?"  
  "I'm right here Eggsy!"  
  He turned and his look of unease faded into a childish grin. He stood and stumbled and fell into Biscuits' arms, hugging and jumping together and Eggs did not care how much it hurt. There had been so much on his plate that he did not realize just how much he missed his friend.  
  "Only thing'd make this better," Eggs said, "is if you brought beer."  
  "I did!"  
  "Oh man, you're the best!"  
  Doze abruptly stood, inadvertently knocking his chair backwards. "When I said 'ignore me', I didn't actually mean it!" He stormed out of the room in a huff. Eggs and Biscuits looked at each other.  
  "What was that about?"  
  
  Die seemed to have the hardest time recovering, and never completely returned to his previous state of health. Despite their own aches and sensitive spots, Eggs and Clover stuck by him, helping in whatever way they could manage. In the early stages, Eggs walked him to and from where he wanted to be, and Clover brought drinks and food and songs. Eggs would make silly jokes and lay beside him at night, insisting that he be awakened should Die need anything. Lonesome as Biscuits would get without his only friend, he even got in on the act.  
  Die's reaction to all this was... a tad cold, and Biscuits trying to help only made things worse for him. Die reminded Eggs of Biscuits' offer of violence, that night they barged into his room. Granted, it turned out well in the end, more or less, but previous impressions did not help matters. And these people as a whole _just would not leave him alone_.  
  He was stressed. He desperately needed more personal time, to not be so doted upon as if he were completely helpless, even though for a little while, he essentially was. All of this embarrassing need for aid, just to wade through his disaster of a room, to go down and get some crackers or take a piss... it took a toll on him. For a time, he would just stay in Clover or Eggs' room, having them bring him what he wanted rather than have to climb and dig, himself. Not that he felt no guilt over this; they were still recovering, too, and not just physically. Eggs' bonhomie often seemed a little faked. He was caught, on more than one occasion, curled up and crying when he believed himself to be alone. Clover touched his face often, would avoid mirrors. His was always so insouciant. Seeing him this way, subtle as he tried to be about it, was... distressing.  
  Neither would admit to anything being wrong.  
  Die tried. They all tried, feeling out some kind of balance between comforting and leaving each other be.  
  
  Time passed. Slowly, Die got better, a little happier. His own room became his regular shelter again, his strength come back just enough to manage. Having the option to freely visit his friends, when the mood struck him, was what was important. Clover, especially. The intense feelings he had felt, blossoming up in the thick of that unwanted adventure, had faded somewhat. They never disappeared, though. He still loved Clover.  
  
  "Y-y'know, um," Die said, "the number four is um, synonymous with death in some cultures, so, um...."  
  "Sooo, my weird curse that sucks up all the luck around me and kills everyone or makes them disappear or-"  
  "-No I mean, I mean we would, we match... up. Sort of. I wasn't trying to explain your... uh, but I guess I didn't think of it like that either. Shit. Nevermind."  
  "You're really shitty at flirting, Die," Clover said, patting his hand. Die gently clenched those fingers, catching and keeping them like a closing flytrap. Clover let him.  
They lounged side by side on Clover's queen sized bed, resting and staring at the ceiling, a projector light animating stars and planets in the darkened room. A little laptop on the night stand provided a soft glow, the only other light in the room. (Die had mentioned having one of his own buried in his room somewhere, but "blood got into it and... it wasn't good.") Clover's room was no smaller than any of the others in the house, with little customization. He hardly needed it, until recently. Cluttered with lucky trinkets, dreamcatchers, bizarre paintings, novelty crap, strewn outfits, the room was not as messy as Die or Eggs', but it was not what one would call _clean_ either, and on the whole had a childish feel. The clincher was a kid-sized vanity near the bed. A long cloth was draped over the mirrors, and a large purple hat with veil was hung over the edge of its chair.  
  Clover was wearing a lengthy dress and a long-sleeved shirt underneath, something he usually saved for cold nights. It was damn hot, but he did not care.  
  "Clove'," Die said, "um, you've never said anything about this before, I just... wonder."  
  "What?"  
  "Do you... um, prefer to be called she or he?"  
  Clover snorted. "I really don't care! Oh, wait, there's one thing: don't call me _it_. That's just rude, y'know?"  
  "Right," Die said. "But, you don't find that annoying _at all_? All the jokes and, and the uh, questions... ? Don't you just want to watch them die horribly sometimes?"  
  "Well, sometimes, sure!" Clover said. He rolled over and snatched the doll jutting out of Die's pocket, a little speck of white amongst all the green. "But I don't run off to laugh at dead bodies when someone gets to me. I get them back!" Clover waved the dolls arms at him, made it dance. He gripped it by its little hips and walked it right up to Die's face, briefly touching it to Die's forehead. " Muah!" The corner of Die's mouth came up, and Clover grinned harder. "Hey, are you looking for advice or something? Still annoyed at that helpful prick Stitchy?"  
  "God," Die groaned, that little smile gone in an instant. "Yes, yes I find it quite vexing when someone _threatens me with a knife_ as he asks me for a favor."  
  "Real pet peeve of yours, huh? Hey, c'mon, didn't mean to kill the mood! Where's that cute smile of yours? Do I gotta force it out?"  
  "Sorry, Clove'...."  
  "Hey, hey," Clover said, "You like dirty jokes? I got a million of 'em!"  
  Die bit his lip. "...yes. I have quite a few myself."  
  "Ooh, okay good!" Clover grinned and waved his hands. "So, two guys are having a smoke outside, when it starts to rain-"  
  "-and," Die said, "one of them reaches into his pocket and puts a condom on his cigarette to protect it."  
  "Oh, you know that one then! Hmm."  
  "Don't stop," Die said, shaking his head. "I... I like this one."  
  "Well alrighty then! So, he puts the rubber on the cig, and the other guy's like, _whoa!_ Cool idea!"  
  Die leaned in close. "He goes to the nearest convenient store and asks the clerk for one. The clerk asks him what size-"  
  "And he says, _one that'll fit a Camel!_ "  
  "Okay, um," Die said, excited, "Here's one, ah, a man is feeling lonely one night and goes looking for a prostitute...."  
  They fell asleep together later that night, Die dressed down to his trousers, Clover in an oversized shirt, faced buried in Die's thin chest. They cuddled as if each held a pillow or stuffed bear, chastely, except when Die's mouth began wandering around Clover's exposed flesh. He tasted his neck and cheek, and Clover shifted and caught his lips, kissing him back. _Just a lucky goodnight kiss_ , Clover assured himself, but anytime their mouths met it always became so much more intimate than what he originally intended, and soon enough Die was on top of him and Clover's tongue was practically in his throat.  
  When Die's hand slid up Clover's thigh and under that shirt, Clover pulled away. "W-wait. I don't...."  
Die removed his hand like Clover's thigh was on fire. "I-- um. Sorry." He rolled to the side. "Do you... want me to, um, leave?"  
  "No, don't!" Clover said, grasping Die's wrist. "Uh... wow. Awkward, huh? Ehehe. Heh. Uh."  
  Die could not help but smile a little. "Y-yeah. Um. Is this because of me and Eggs? What relationship we have is... more on the _open_ end. A close friend with several benefits. He understands that... I... think."  
  "No, uh, it's not about... well, I don't know." Clover pinched his forehead. "Maybe kinda. But also... I don't know!"  
  "What do you _want_ , exactly?"  
  "I just said, I don't have a damn clue. For now, just... can we just... I like that cuddling thing we were just doing. That was nice."  
  Die leaned forward and pecked Clover's cheek. "I'll do whatever you want," he whispered. "And... that sounded a lot less suggestive in my head."  
  Clover tittered. "Oh, _whatever_ I want, huh? Would you eat a really hot pepper if I told you to? Go steal the rims off of Spades Slick's car? Go tell Crowbar how obviously badly you want to job his knob and ask why he hasn't done anything about it yet? Whatever I want, you said it!"  
  " ...A-almost whatever."  
  Clover tittered. "Would you sing karaoke with me?" Die propped himself up on his elbow and cleared his throat. He hummed a little, quietly scatted a few lines. Clover blinked rapidly. Once Die fell silent, Clover said, "Wait a minute. You can actually sing?"  
  "I... I dunno, a little I guess."  
Clover sat up as if excited. "No, actually, you're... you're good! Finally, a karaoke partner!"  
  "I don't really want to... um," Die hesitated. "Well. Maybe. M... maybe."  
  
  It had become a habit for Die, sleeping held or holding someone most nights, either Clover or Eggs. He slept a little better these days, this way. Eggs, though, was not doing quite as well as his friends. His wounds had healed up, he could move and punch and jump with only the slightest twinge of pain. That was not the issue.  
  The three friends had eventually updated each other on everything: how Die was sick with something _strange,_ some kind of fatal insomnia that only the agelessness of his position held off, about Clover and his doppelgenger and luck he naturally absorbed from others like a sponge, without the Felt power to control or override it... and what exactly happened to Eggs.  
  
  He started crying again. It had started up without warning in the middle of a game of cards. Apologizing profusely, Eggs wiped his eyes with a sleeve, accidentally dropping his hand in the process.  
  "Oh, shit, damn it, shit, sorry," he sobbed and failed to compose himself, then tried to get up and leave. Clover leaned forward and caught his coattail, demanding he sit down.  
  "Talk to us. C'mon."  
  With a sniffle, he did as he was asked, laying his head down onto the table and hiding in his arms. Clover climbed up onto the table and sat beside him to rub his back. Die and Biscuits put down their cards and scooted towards him.  
  "Eggs?" Die said. "Please...."  
  "...It... d-doesn't feel right," Eggs finally said. "I'm not real. Don't deserve to be here. Should have died."  
  "No," Die said. Biscuits sat quietly, his understanding of the situation unclear to the others, but he was appropriately solemn.  
  "I told dad-- I mean-- Quarts-- he's not _my_ dad he's... I told him and he said that's how I got like this to begin with, that I shouldn't feel so bad, but it's different now. He did so much and I just stole all that and I'm just supposed to go on like nothin' happened? I don't think I even absorb him back, he was already... it might be okay if only I just... just...."  
  "You didn't steal anything!" Clover said. "If anything, it was more of an inheritance. You got those memories from him, yeah? So he must be in there, too!"  
  Eggs made some strange, muffled despairing noise. "I can't _fucking_ tell. I ...wish I didn't change to begin with. I'm more trouble now than I was before." He barely finished the sentence, a sob distorting the words. "Die... you were sick and I made it worse. Clove', there was that whole thing with the cake. And I haven't been great to you either, Biscuit. I just mess everything up."  
  "No, no!" Die said, clenching his hands tightly.   
  "Don't you got anything else to say?" Eggs cried, body straightening, eyes streaming, having formed a puddle where his head previously lay. "Why not? You can't think of anything to say 'cause you agree, right?"  
  Die's hand twitched, fingers just touching the head of his doll. Taking in a deep breath, he put down his hands.  
  "Eggs," he said, voice wavering. "I'm... I'm sorry. I'm not good at th-this. But... please don't think that way. We, we miss... him. Loved him. But, you're... you're _also_ him. You're n-not just, a um, a... just a clone. You're different, but only in that you're from his future. You're _still_ him, you're the same damn person! So we love you too. You stole nothing. You have done all that he has, earned all he has. You deserve to be here. You're no less real than any of the others who emerged from the original you, so long ago. You're real, and I love you dearly. I really do. Please believe it." And Clover and Biscuits wholeheartedly expressed their agreement, Die and Biscuits even getting up from their chairs to embrace Eggs.  
  Eggs hiccuped out another little cry. He jumped when a hand appeared on his arm-- that of Quarters'. Eggs turned, tears still streaming as Quarters bent and wrapped his arms around Eggs' shoulders.  
  "Sorry for eavesdropping," he said. "But please listen to your friends, son."  
  
  It would take a little more time.  
  
  Snowman still relaxed and smoked outside. Eggs joined her, after a long hiatus, quietly leaning against the wall near her. He had forced himself out, hoping for a good distraction, and Snowman had always helped in this regard, one way or another. He looked at her cig holder, smoke billowing out from the end and curving and spreading out with the little gusts of warm wind. He thought of her flipping the holder from her mouth and slamming and running that lance through people. She had looked damn beautiful doing it.  
  There also was the fact that she was involved with Crowbar in the other timeline. It hit him that, despite her apparently being single _here_ , he was sure he had no chance in hell with her. He did not mind. Eggs liked her as they were.  
  Snowman inclined her head ever so slightly towards him, eye cocked. _Oops._ He was staring.  
  "Uh, um," Eggs quietly said, "so. I was just thinkin', how does that thing work? Your cigarette thing and lance? And the MC's cards?"  
  With a shrug, she said, "It works _great_."  
  "Do... you know about shadow magic?"  
  "Now why would _you_ know anything about a thing like that?"  
  "Experience," Eggs said, almost proudly. "Y'know, they call it _shadow_ magic, but Die thinks it's more like space magic. I don't know how making shadowy tentacles and axes and shields and things is space magic exactly, but I wondered how some of our powers are timey, too. _Some_ of it looks legit. They could teleport and screw up gravity. That's space-related, right? So, it's like, our powers have an _evil twin_ power, except they're not identical cause uh, ones' time and one's space. Actually, I guess we're kinda evil too... so the good twin would be... uhh... what would Die say? Entropy? Entropy is the good twin.  
  "...Wait. That doesn't sound right. Nobody has entropy powers."  
  Slowly, Snowman said, "I wouldn't know about any of that. I lack the... experience."  
  "You had lots of it where I just was. You were awesome."  
  "Ha. When am I not?" she said, taking a puff. Eggs watched her lips.  
  "Hey, uh, Snowy? Can I have a... ?"  
  She looked at him a moment, then reached into her jacket, gave him a cigarette and lit it for him. Relaxing, he took a few drags and shut his eyes, trying to clear his mind. It worked, but not for long enough.  
  "I bet Biscuit knows about that stuff," Eggs said. "I mean, the... smarter one, from the other place. He was such a know-everything-about-all-the-things guy. But then we... and he's still... I gotta-" he opened his eyes to an empty wall, not knowing exactly when Snowman decided to leave.  
  
  It took a while for him to muster up the courage to ask to be brought back to that timeline. Shadow magic curiosity was but a minor reason to return. Eggs wanted to make up. Meeting them in the kitchen, he proposed the idea to Die and Clover.  
  Clover asked Die to place him on the table. Once there, he dropped a deck of cards down in front of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but a good look at Eggs' face made him hesitate. Disappointment tinging his voice, Clover said, "So, we're not here to finish that card game?"  
  "Maybe later," Eggs said. He turned and sat on the corner of the table, resting a foot on one of the chairs. "So... Die? You think you could... take me back there? To see Biscuits?"  
  Die, leaning against the counter, nodded. "...Sure. I can take you tomorrow, if Clover's around then," he said, looking Clover's way.  
  "I'm not going anyplace tomorrow," Clover said. "But I can't face that, that... cake! I mean-- there are _two_ of them in there now, aren't there? Yeah, there are! That thing is just, it's not... right. D-do you really gotta do this, Eggsy? Not that I think you're gonna go and mess with that oven or strange baked goods again, but you know what happened _last time_."  
  Eggs frowned. "You uh, don't... need to come with us, if you don't want to. And no, it's not even about the oven!" He said to Die, "and you're not gonna swap to some pin you don't know where it goes again, right?"  
  "Straight home, after that. Don't worry."  
  Placing the deck of cards under his hat, Clover said, "No, I'm going with. You're my pals. I gotta keep you guys safe. If I loose you two, who do I got left? Biscuits? Pfft."  
  
  Arrival was thankfully uneventful. The house was sonorous with ticking clocks along with activity. Classic rock on the radio sounded from behind the door of Crowbar's office. There were voices, and floors creaking with footsteps from the upper floor. A surfeit of electric fans whirred, attempting to keep the house at a reasonable temperature.  
  Biscuits was home this time, drinking alone in the kitchen, face inches away from a miniature fan. When Eggs darkened the doorway, he looked up with a hint of annoyance, placing his glass down onto the table with an audible _clink_. Then Eggs shyly called his name, and Biscuits recognized exactly whom he was.  
  Biscuits said, partially standing, "What did you do? Shit, you... didn't..."  
  Eggs rapidly shook his head. "I didn't-- I didn't say anything to... he doesn't know. Home still exists. Everything's good. He... doesn't know anything about the oven. No one does except us." As Eggs spoke those words, his voice grew melancholy. "A... uh, a lot of other awful shit happened though. Completely unrelated."  
  Biscuits softened. "Oh." Eggs took a seat next to him, and Biscuits looked him over. "Holy shit, look at you. Midnight Crew?"  
  "...Yeah. Uh, it's a long story...."  
  
  Left to their own devices, Clover and Die wandered in circles about the halls, taking what Clover affectionately dubbed _the Circle Island Tour._ This... was the epitome of boredom.  
  "You think it turned out alright?" Clover said, touching Die's leg. "For... y'know. Other me."  
  "I'm sure they figured something out," Die said. "D-did you, um, want to see them?"  
  "Uhh, no, no thanks!" Clover said, waving his hands. "I'm good. I don't really want to... I mean, other me was a huge prick anyway." He groaned. "Why the hell did something like that even exist anyway?"  
  "...the oven?"  
  "The oven! Who _makes_ something like that? Seriously!" Clover groaned. "And they gave it to Biscuits. Of all people. Really. Someone was asleep at the job when they were handing out powers!"  
  "Where did any of these powers and artifacts come from?" Die said rhetorically, holding out his doll. "Why do we have them, why _us_ , some the biggest bunch of fuckups around? _Where_ is English? Why... anything? Maybe we were debriefed and forgot. And... forgotten."  
  "Amnesia is so stupid."  
  Die shrugged. "Certainly not productive."  
  "...hey, wait a minute. I'm not a fuckup!" Clover gently punched Die's leg. "What I do, I do because it's funny, not because I'm incompetent."  
  "It doesn't help much either way."  
  "Ohh, shush!"  
  Local Felts that passed them by, did so with quizzical looks on their faces. To see Clover so visibly scarred (and his poor attempts to hide it), and to see him _with Die--_ whom never liked to be out like this in the first place, was something to remember. Clover and Die paid them no attention, too focused on bantering with each other, until a shrill ringing sound shocked them into silence.  
  "Eggs?" Clover said. The man stepped out from the aether, appearing quite distracted, downtrodden. To Die, Clover whispered, "wait, is that ours or the other one?"  
  "Hi guys," Eggs said, approaching them with a forced little smile. "You're from the other timey place, right?"  
  Clover narrowed his eyes. "I can't tell."  
  Die acknowledged Eggs. "A... are you alright?"  
  "Yeah!" Eggs said, "Biscuit don't want me around right now well uh, most the time I guess, and nobody else wants me around but it's okay 'cause, 'cause... I dunno. I can use my thing but everybody just gets mad. Very very including Biscuit. But it's okay." He pressed his back to the wall and slid down slowly onto his ass. Die and Clover sat near him, in the middle of the hall.  
  Clover prodded Eggs. "Uh, so, how's Clove' doing?" He tightened up, as if preparing for the worst.  
  "What? Uh, fine I guess?" Eggs said. "I dunno. Why're you askin' me?"  
  "So, Clover isn't dead or anything like that?"  
  "You're right there. You can't tell? Wait, wait!" Eggs gasped. "Maybe you guys'r ghosts and you don't know it, like that one movie? Try the mirror test!"  
  "That's vampires!" Clover said.  
  "Vampires are dead too!"  
  "I-- well. Damn," Clover said. "I... guess? I mean no, we're not dead!"  
  Die said, "Prolly not, anyway. That possibility aside, we want to know about the Clover that lives with _you,_ Eggs. Your Clover."  
  "Oh," Eggs said. "If she's dead then she's a real good lookin' vampire ghost."  
  "Being good looking is a given," Clover said, soon after running his fingers over the scarring on his face. He shrunk in his seat a bit. "Y... yeah."  
  Eggs leaned down and looked at him. "Did you guys get hurt?"  
  Die had his fingers on Clover's back, rubbing his shoulders. "Yeah."  
  "You guys okay?"  
  Clover sat up and forced on a smile. "Don't worry about it, we'll be fine!  
  Eggs grinned. "Good! Hey, why're you guys talking to me anyways?"  
  Clover said, "Because we're bored."  
  Die said, "I, um, suppose we're also following our Eggs' example. He's our friend. I... suppose that makes you our friend now too."  
  "Or that too I guess," Clover said. "If that's what you wanna go with, Die."  
  "Yes, it is," Die said.  
  "Alrighty," Clover said, throwing up his hands. "Sure! Other Eggs, you're our friend too."  
  Eggs lit up. "R-really?"  
  "C'mon, we were in the middle of forcing Die to do some exercise! Walk with us."  
  He jumped up, quivering with excitement, and eagerly helped the other two up onto their feet. They continued touring the mansion, together. Any looks they had before were more confused than ever.  
  
  "Shadow magic, space magic, hmm," Biscuits said, tenting his fingers. "I've not had nearly the exposure to it that you just have, thankfully. Snowman's lance, and the Midnight Crew's cards are the only possible instances here, though it's not for certain that that is what item duality really is. But... I could see it being so. That maybe these items don't transform, they just... switch places."  
  "So... what makes Dersites so special?" Eggs said. "Why couldn't _we_ learn to do that stuff?"  
  "Maybe we can," Biscuits said. "Maybe our predisposition to time magic balks it... but. Hmm... Snowman. No... I suppose you just simply have to be a Dersite."  
  "That's crap," Eggs said with a huff. "And unfair to the Prospit guys! And us!"  
  "How is that unfair to _us,_ exactly?"  
  "Oh. Well, still, if that stuff's true, Prospitans got screwed pretty b... wait! Maybe _they're_ the good twin!  
  "... _What_?"  
  
  Clover said, "Hey, can I ask you a question?"  
  "I'm no good at tests," Eggs said.  
  "No, no, not that kinda-- I was just wondering," Clover said, "why do you call him _Biscuit_? Both of you do it and it's _weird_."  
  "People call you Clove' and that's not weird!" Eggs said defensively.  
  Die placed his hand over his mouth, unable to hold back a smile. "Th... that's his nickname?"  
  "Yeah! Everybody's gotta have a nickname. We don't got our own names no more so this way we can still have our own names for our... own!"  
  "Ha," Clover said, "well, actually, it's not that awful an idea. Biscuit is still a dumb nickname though."  
  "You're a dumb nickname," Eggs pouted. "Hey Die, do you got one?"  
  Clover answered for him, "Oh yeah, back home we call him Slut McBanghard!"  
  "Clover!"  
  Eggs' eyes darted between them both. "Is your nickname _Slut McBanghard_ or _Clover_? Both? You guys're really gonna make fun of _Biscuit_ and you have a names like-"  
  "Shit, no, no," Die waved his hands, trying his best to stifle a fit of laughter, "I don't _have_ a nickname, Eggs. I don't need one. Die suits me fine."  
  Clover snickered, "You sure you don't want a nickname, _Clover_?"  
  Eggs smiled. "Okay, your nickname is Clover now, it's stuck!"  
  "God damn it," Die said in good humor, "No it isn't, shut up."  
  "Oh, you want us to call you the other name?" Eggs said, "We can make that one stuck too! What was it-?"  
  "Bang Thunderjizz!" Clover said, making a gun gesture with his finger. "Pow!"  
  "Oooh that ones even better 'n the other, wait! Wait I can come up with one, uhhh... Butt... Buttsmith!"  
  Clover came back with, "Manpole Throbbing. Fits him like a glove!"  
  "Sexboob Sexytimes!"  
  "Muscles McDickhard!"  
  "H-holy shit," he said haltingly, head hung as laughter loudly forced its way out. "Sorry, sorry, oh f-f fuck you two."  
  
  "What was that?" Biscuits said, arcing his head back.  
  Eggs smiled. "I think that was Die. Heh...."  
  "Die? Laughing?" Biscuits shook his head.  
  "It's him!" Eggs said. "I know that sound. It's one of the greatest sounds ever."  
  "I thought it was kind of annoying."  
  "You're annoying," Eggs said.  
  " _You're_ annoying," Biscuits said, gently jabbing his shoulder.  
  Eggs stuck out his tongue. "Yeah whatever!"  
  "So," Biscuits said, "You'll be visiting every once in a while, right?"  
  "Yeah... I think so."  
  "And you'll continue to keep the oven quiet?"  
  Eggs slyly smiled. "Maybe."  
  Biscuits punched his arm, hard.  
  
  Without need nor desire to examine a certain orange artifact, Eggs spent more of his free time in the garage, sitting upon the seat of his stolen motorcycle, Bacon. It had just hit him, that he was free to go wherever he wanted. Go explore, forget a little, and look badass while doing it  
  It had previously been made clear to him that they lived in a rather shitty part of town, infested with scabies and beggars. But this was fun, and new. Buried in the shit were the pleasant little nuggets: restaurants, cafes, clothing and toy and liquor and tattoo places (should those last two stores be right next to each other?). For his first stop, he picked an old pawn shop.  
  Parked haphazardly across two parking spaces was a sleek black car decorated inside and out with fuzzy black dogs. It gave him pause, wondering why that seemed so vaguely familiar as he walked into the store. He remembered as soon as he recognized the men at the counter, ducking into a circular clothing rack. It had shocked him to see Spades Slick and Clubs Deuce there, until he remembered that, yes, the Midnight Crew were still alive in this timeline. They all were.  
  "Perhaps your friend will like one of these?" the salesperson said, handing Slick a watch.  
  Slick grimaced and tossed the watch down to Deuce. "Think he'd like that?" With a groan he added, "Fucking clocks."  
  Said the man, "It's a genuine Rolex, not cheap, but worth every penny!"  
  Deuce scrutinized the watch, turning it end over end. "Nope sorry, looks fake! See, the case backing's all see through and the crown's all wrong. Fake."  
  The salesperson quickly said, "No, no, I'm on the level! It's a _genuine_ fake-" as Slick snatched him by the collar, pulling him halfway over the counter. He drew a card-- Eggs' eyes locked onto it, concentrating on it, and he saw just the faintest, quickest flicker of black energy like negative static as it transformed into a dagger-- and sunk it into the man's shoulder.  
  "Guess what! You're _genuinely_ bleeding! Hopefully to death!" Slick let go and wiped the bloody knife on his clothes. "Tst, _on the level._ More like on the lie... liar... cheaty... asshole. He's an asshole. Let's take a break, CD. I want ice cream; It's fucking hot as balls in here." He jabbed the dying carapace's shoulder again with the business end of his blade. "Fucking air conditioning! You heard of it?"  
  Deuce grinned like a child. "I know a swell place for ice cream! Let's go boss!" He took Slick by the hand and dragged him out the door, passing Eggs without notice nor care. Parting the clothing like curtains, Eggs stepped out, approaching the moaning, bleeding salesman.  
  Eggs said, "Don't worry guy! I'll call someone for... uh. Ooh." Something in the shelves to the left caught his eye. "Gimme a minute."  
  "Oh god," the salesperson grunted. Clutching his gushing wound, he fumbled with the phone, too shocked to handle it properly. Eggs meanwhile was busy trying on a worn leather jacket, finding to his delight that it was not too small. So long as he allowed Stitch to catch him wearing it, the good tailor would fit it perfectly for him, whether he asked him to or not. As well, there were goggles and gloves and a few toys and-- _ooh!--_ a box of cards. He had not played with his little coterie since his last... episode, and some deck modifications would provide ample excuse to start up again. Perhaps finally he could find that special something that would finally put an end to Biscuits' reign of game-related terror.  
  Eggs stuffed all he could into his pockets and tucked the box of cards under his arm before returning to the desk. The man was on the floor, along with the phone.  
  "Oh. You got it," Eggs said. He nearly turned to leave, but something in the glass casing of the counter captured his attention. "Hey, can I have that?"  
  "Mrguuhhhh."  
  Eggs shrugged. He wrapped part of the jacket around his fist before smashing the glass and taking what he wanted. As he exited, he hoped dearly that he would not accidentally run into any MC again.  
  
  _"We really ought to do something nice for him! He looks so_ down _when he gets off that bike."_  
  _"So... we should... do what for him? I've already been... wait. I have an idea."_  
  
  He went further next time. There was another Prospit church, adorned with frog imagery. He thought of Clover, and realized that the little Felt had not gone out much since their return. In fact, aside from their trips to the other timeline, he was not sure that Clover had gone out at all.  
  Further and further he drove, away from the slums and closer to the heart of the city where buildings loomed taller, invading the sky, and traffic grew hectic and more frightening to navigate. He adapted, best he could, but not without a few minor accidents.  
  Eggs ventured as far as the Oasis lake and surrounding park. The famous hotel located here towered over its surroundings and glinted in the sun like a jewel. Oasis was polished white and gold, its massive courtyard bearing the same scheme. Surrounding the golden brick path, stretching up to the gigantic maw of pillars that made up the entrance, was well manicured grass, fountains and shady trees and statues. It was like stepping into another, far more classy world.  
He pressed his face against the glass separating him from the lavish, commodious lobby. More white and gold, white and gold! Lining the floor were beautiful shining tiles forming an abstract lily pad pattern. Golden pillars with amphibious designs carved into them supported the arcing ceiling. Paintings depicting heavenly scenes of frogs surrounded a massive fireplace. A grand chandelier overlooked it all like a delicate sentry. Certainly, the owners were not subtle about being proud Prospitans.  
  It was not a Prospit-only establishment, apparently. Dersites sat in armchairs around the fireplace with their white-carapaced cousins, and Eggs even spotted a non-carapaced alien chatting at the front desk. He had never seen any other aliens in the city for himself before. They seemed to be on the rare side, much like his own kind.  
  Then, he tried to return home. Getting lost was... not so badass. For what felt like hours, he wandered the streets and backstreets, searching for familiar landmarks, instead mostly passing familiar lamp posts and drug dealers. Deep into the outskirts of the slums, he even managed to find the long-abandoned, out of business _G-Spot_ bar. He stopped there in the single-row diagonal parking lot. The heat, even in the evening, hit him now that the wind was not. He would not mind so much if it was not such a _dry_ heat, and if he had the foresight to bring a large bottle of water. But, there was hope. As he looked up into the darkening sky, he could just make out the dull green of the manor peeking out from the city skyline.  
  He also soon discovered that he had used up all of Bacon's fuel.  
  
  The walk home was grueling and a bit humiliating. Darkness, slightly cooling, fairly frightening, fell upon him as Eggs hauled that heavy motorcycle. His size would safeguard him from any would-be muggers, but this was something that he only would remember later. The journey home was interspersed with little fits of tears _I'm so stupid oh god I'm so fucking stupid_ causing him need to frequently stop and recompose himself lest someone see and get too brave, and the fact that he was crying at all only made him feel worse. _Stupid and pathetic._  
  When finally the manor was clearly within his sights, he could breathe a sigh of relief, even gaining him a slight energy boost. But there also was something strange about the house: the glowing lights out front. Closing the distance revealed activity, the sounds of music, _people_.  
  He abandoned Bacon upon reaching Felt property and made his approach. Set up on the lawn were tables and chairs, food, alcohol... _lots_ of alcohol, and all of the Felt. His arrival was ignored, until Clover and Die spotted him. Both of them appeared to be at least tipsy.  
  Clover opened his arms. "Welcome to your party!"  
  "Party? For _what_?"  
  "Well," Die said, "f... funeral. That's, uh, what it was supposed to be, but, uh...."  
  " _Funeral_?" Eggs pulled the nearest table close and plopped down on its edge, disturbing the drinks and food atop it. Doze, whom had been resting his head there, was now on the ground. "Oops, sorry." Eggs rubbed his hands. "Well what is it, a party or funeral? You guys are confusing me!"  
  Clover scratched his head. "Uhh, it _started out_ as a private funeral, for y'know... the other you, and every other you that ever died, including the very first you! Since, y'know, it really messed you up. But then you took forever getting back home, and everyone else found out we were doing something over here, and... well, you can see what happened! It's kinda outta our hands now."  
  A very drunk Itchy butt in, shoving Die and hovering over Clover. He slurred, "What's this shit about a funeral? Who died and who cares?"  
  Trace was behind him, throwing an arm over Itchy's shoulder and nearly bringing both of them down. "Y-you know who's pushin' up daisies? Ha... ha, it's, it's... ain't no one important, just Stitch's cock. Died. A long time ago. 'Cause he old. Haa haa. High fii...." Trace keeled over and vomited.  
  "Fucking shit, Trace!"  
  Not too far away, Stitch was shooting Trace a death glare. He slammed down his flask and touched Die's shoulder, quietly asking to borrow his doll. Confused, he dug it out of his pocket and handed it over. Stitch produced a red cloth, tying it around the voodoo doll's neck. Then, he drop-kicked it, violently throwing the real Trace into Matchsticks.  
  "The fuck--! My fucking drink! Oh for fuck's sake, is that... eww."  
  "Aw shit Sticks, I'm-- aghh, no, don't!"  
  Stitch removed the cloth from the doll and handed it back to Die. "Huh. Wasn't sure that'd work," Stitch muttered.  
  "Um... interesting," Die said, nonplussed.  
  "So, so, wait a sec," Eggs said, raising his palms. "So, this is like, a _funeral_... and you guys are getting drunk and fighting and most of them don't even know what happened, and _who's that guy?_ " Eggs pointed out a jovial carapace. The man waved.  
  "Don't mind me! I just love parties, man! Woohoo!"  
  Eggs continued with, "And none of you even dressed for it!"  
  Clover looked down at his green suit. "These getups aren't _black_ , but they're still suits. What, do you want people goin' and mistaking us for the Midnight Crew?"  
  "I highly doubt that would happen," Die said.  
  "I... guess. I don't know," Eggs said.  
  Biscuits snuck up from behind, throwing most of his weight into a surprise hug. "Aww, just have fun, Eggsy! Look, Snowy and Quarts brought candy. Quarts got the good stuff for you, too!"  
  "Y'know, maybe we shoulda done this sooner," Clover said, "and more... funeral-y."  
  "I'm sorry, Eggs," Die said. "I didn't want it to turn out th-this way... god I fucking hate parties."  
  "But funerals are a hoot, huh?"  
  "Clove'...."  
  "Guys, um," Eggs slowly said, a smile forming, "It's okay. I'm glad I have you guys. I... um... kind of meant it when I said I wished I didn't change. I still kind of feel like it'd be better that way, but I don't want it, either. Kinda confusing. But I _do_ like parties, so... it's alright. We'll just call it a, uh... funer-arty."  
  "Eggs," Die said, "in the very unlikely event that it did happen, that you did somehow... revert... you are still my friend. Your personality didn't change. Your memories would remain intact. You are loyal, strong, determined... _sweet_ , in every incarnation. Had I really known you even before the change, I would love you regardless. We all would."  
Clover added, "But don't take that as encouragement to go and hit yourself in the head to make yourself dumber!"  
  "That's just unhealthy," Biscuits said.  
  "R-right. Don't do that."  
  "Don't worry!" Eggs said. "Okay, where's dad? I wanna show him something."

  
  Biscuits had picked up on the fact that Eggs was avoiding certain things, spending his time in other rooms, including the odd spare room that no one was supposed to touch. More glaring than that was the two ovens taking up real estate in their disaster of a room. Eggs had stacked them and started treating the appliances like dresser drawers, complete with a novelty lamp wedged between the stove elements.  
  "Eggsy, Eggsy," Biscuits said as Eggs was going through the clothing in the top oven, "Um... weren't you doing something with-"  
  "Hey," Eggs said, drawing an Uzi SMG and closing the door. "I saw you and Clove' talking about reality show ideas a while ago."  
  "Well, yeah!" Biscuits said. "But-"  
  Eggs set the gun aside and plopped down onto the bed next to Biscuits. "I heard something about pizza. Sounded _real_ tasty."  
  "Mmm," Biscuits nodded. "But, you might wanna be careful! 'Cause, like, in the show, we take one of those really really really _really_ hot Hellmouth peppers and hide it under the cheese of _one_ slice, and then we go round the house and dare everyone to pick one! Clove' came up with the name: _Pizza Roulette_. It'll be the best show ever, we're gonna so totally do it! Can you get us a camera? And some peppers? And pizza? And soda? That's not for the show, that's 'cause I want one."  
  Eggs said, "I know someone's allergic to peppers. I don't remember who it was, but that idea is still awesome! Hell yes I'm gettin' you a camera and peppers and pizza! But uh, better find out who can't eat peppers first, Biscuit. Seriously."  
  "Aw, who cares if someones allergy... ic," Biscuits scoffed. "We got a doctor!"  
  Eggs placed a hand to his chin. "...can Stitch fix allergic freakout things? I dunno. I just know he's not really a doc! He's just a good artist."  
  "Oh, yeah. 'Cause... uh, he couldn't fix Die, right?"  
  Eggs said, "no, 'cause it was somethin' like, genetic or something, that he had since before he was... you know about that?"  
  Biscuits threw up his hands. "You guys come in here like all the time and... do... things. And talk. Yeah I know! I ain't _that_ stupid!" Eggs blushed. "Yeah, I totally know what you guys are up to. Having sleepovers without me!"  
  "...Oh."  
  "And buttsex."  
  "Not all the time!" Eggs quickly said. "I mean. Shut up!"  
  Biscuits crossed his arms, pursed his lips. "How come you never invited me?"  
  "Invited you to... what? You wanted to join in?" Eggs said, embarrassed and flustered. "You're like, practically my brother!  Holy crap!"  
  " _So_?"  
  "What do you mean, _so_?!"  
  Making air quotes, Biscuits said, " _Practically_. That's what you said, right? Heh," Biscuits clasped his hands together. "Clover told me how to use the finger thing and I wanted to use it!"  
  "Well, uhh, uhh, good for you, I guess," Eggs said, "but quit wising up to the stuff I'm doing!" Eggs rose and retrieved the gun, starting out the door. "I'll get you that stuff later, okay? I got something I wanna do first."  
  
  Quarters allowed Eggs into his room without hesitation, offering him a seat and something to drink. "This is it, then?" he said, examining the Uzi. "Looks to be in good shape."  
  "Oh that's good," Eggs said. "I wanna, uh, start with the gun training stuff again. Kind of sick of fisticuffs." Eggs rubbed his knuckles, decorated with scarring. "Can you show me your other guns, too?"  
  "Of course!" Quarters put aside some time for him later that day. He guided Eggs to the back of his room, to the closet, pushing aside clothing to reveal a hidden workspace, like a small, misplaced garage. Eggs knew Quarters had a few extra guns, but the actual number of large, heavy arms lining the walls took him aback. In the center of the room was a workbench, tools, boxes strewn about it, and a few non-ammo magazines that Quarters scooped up and hid before letting   Eggs step any further inside.  
  "I prefer to keep this room on the quiet," Quarters said, putting one finger to his beak. "I get enough comments about my face without _overcompensation_ jokes to go with them."  
  "Oh. Right, sure. I think the beak looks cool though!" Eggs said, running his fingers over a mounted minigun.  
  "I wish I would have heard that when I was a kid," Quarters groaned. He indicated the minigun. "She's my favorite," he said, hovering over his shoulder. "Her name is Penny. Think you can lift her?"  
  Eggs moved and, with a little guidance, positioned himself and strained as he attempted to lift Penny. He managed to keep her at chest height for a few seconds, before nearly dropping her back down onto her display. "Holy _crap_ that thing's heavy," he breathed, red-faced from the exertion.  
  "Maybe you need to start working out."  
  "Maybe you need to show me something lighter!"  
  "Ha. Fine," Quarters said, gesturing for him to follow. "Still, a little weight lifting could be good for you."  
  "Prolly," Eggs shrugged. "I like the idea but I don't like, uh, y'know... doing it. Hm. Girls like muscular guys, right?"  
  "I suppose some do. What, did you meet a girl?"  
  Eggs shook his head. "Nah, I don't know any girls. Except Clover. I think." A moment's thought, and he added, "'Snowy's not a girl. She's a _lady._ "  
  "If it helps," Quarters said, "there _is_ a whorehouse within driving distance. Sticks is a regular there," he snickered. "I can ask him to take you next time. But... hmm, your boyfriend approves of all this? Or do you plan on taking him with you?" Quarters said with something like a smirk. "You could even bring Biscuits along."  
  Eggs stammered, "Uh, uh, what? Okay, first, uh, no Biscuits is like... not... part of that! And second, you mean Die? He's not really my-- I don't think he-- we're just really really _really_ close fr-- wait you know about us, too?" He just then recalled Clover's past assurance that indeed, most of the house knew, or at least had some inkling about their situation. As if thin walls had not been enough, there too was the issue of Trace's powers, and tendency to gossip, and apparent previous knowledge of Die's predilections. Eggs palmed his face. "Aw, crrrrap."  
  Quarters shrugged. "Have you ever heard of a little something called a motel? ...Or gags?"  
  "Uh... anyway," Eggs said, "a whorehouse sounds fun! But I don't think Sticks, uh, likes me all that much. Couldn't you take me? I could go myself I guess but uhh I wouldn't really know uhh what to... I dunno."  
  Quarters grew a little hesitant. He did not speak until handing Eggs a more manageable machine gun. "Not really my kind of place, honestly. Now, ah, back to the guns. Did you bring your Uzi? Later we can go outside and shoot at cans for practice."  
  Eggs cocked his head. "Cans... or _Cans_?"  
  Quarters' answer was nothing more than an amused grunt. He moved the lessons along.  
  
  Cans and Eggs did continue to spend some time together, minus gunfire. Though, Eggs had no trouble reading now, and he had mostly given up on finding an instrument that worked for him. He knew one song on the piano: _Chopsticks_. The day after learning and perhaps going overboard with it, Eggs would return to a piano with all of its keys missing.  
  For now, he was content with listening to others play. And, at least he had books. Eggs would borrow some from Cans, like his own local library. Die's collection consisted mostly of the non-fiction variety, scientific journals and encyclopedias. When he was not using them as furniture, Eggs enjoyed looking through those, but he liked stories more.  
  Eggs needed the distraction, and as many as possible.  
  Perusing the rows of books in Cans' room, he pulled one out, its title intriguing to him.  
  "How's this one?" Eggs said. Cans walked over to see which one he had picked up. "Flowers for Al-"  
  "-Maybe you should avoid that one," Cans said uneasily.  
  "Why, does it got a sad ending or something?" Eggs said. "I can handle that! More or less."  
  "Just trust me on that," Cans said, pulling out a different book. "Maybe you'd like this one better?"  
  "I already read that one," Eggs said.  
  "You've read a bunch of these already," Cans said. "You know there's an actual library in the house, right?"  
  Eggs put up the book and gave Cans a quizzical glance. "...Really? _Where_? How come this is the first I've heard of it?"  
  Cans shrugged. "It's... in the house _somewhere_. I don't know... if you go looking, let me know if you stumble upon the auditorium and extra storage room we apparently have, too."  
  Eggs shifted uncomfortably. "Just seems like more proof that the house is haunted."  
  "What?"  
  "N-nothing."  
  
  When Matchsticks finally, quietly invited Eggs to come with him to the brothel, he could barely contain his nervous excitement. Bordellos were legal in Midnight City, though illegal establishments had popped up regardless, growing far more in number like gross growths. There were rules and regulations, _apparently_. An establishment that treated their women (and in some cases, men) like people rather than property, regardless of legal status, was on the rarer side. The one Matchsticks visited, the one nearest to the house... was not one of those.  
  The brothel was a shitty, broken old manor, smaller than that owned by the Felt. It did not appear to have a proper name, only a ratty sign outside reading _Tijuana Bible Study_. The inside was not much better, very plain with a little bar and wooden stairs crawling up to an open second floor. It was hot and muggy inside. Matchsticks removed his suit jacket and placed it on a convenient coat rack, and Eggs motioned to do the same, with some hesitation. He pocketed whatever he did not want stolen and followed Matchsticks to the front of the room, floors squeaking with every step.  
  "Slow day," Matchsticks said, noting that the building appeared to be mostly empty.  
  A tired young Prospit woman sat at the front desk, having looked up from her book upon their arrival. She seemed to recognize Matchsticks and nodded at him in acknowledgment.  
  "We'll uh, fucking... get a drink first. I guess I should talk to you before we do nothin'," Matchsticks said, his voice uncertain. The girl at the desk stood and pushed through the double doors of the counter to meet them at the bar. She wordlessly prepared their drinks. "So... shit," Matchsticks sighed, "Ever fucked anything other than your hand before?"  
  Eggs was not certain how to answer that one. Shyly, he nodded, and mumbled, "Yeah, plenty. Just not with a... with a girl."  
  Matchsticks gave him a look. "Fucking hell. Biscuits?"  
  "What?" Eggs cried. "No! Why's everyone always-- no! It was D... d.. done. Done --with someone else. You, uh, wouldn't know him...."  
  "You really are fucking Die then. Damn, no wonder he limps around."  
  "Aw, fine, yeah," Eggs said, defeated. "I am. I like him. So? And that's not why he's limping! Not... only." He groaned and palmed his face.  
  Matchsticks raised his hands in a sort of aggressive shrug. "If you're fucking queer then why the hell did you want to come here?"  
  "I-- I like girls!"  
  The carapace slid them their drinks, then stood still as if waiting for orders. Matchsticks ignored her, for the moment. He droned out, "Just so you know, most girls ain't got cocks, kiddo."  
  "I know that!" Eggs said defensively. "Look, this is... I'm complicated!"  
  Matchsticks sneered. He dug into his pockets for his lighter and cigarettes, lighting one up. "Whatever. Smoke?" Eggs took him up on the offer. "Bottom line is, you never fucked a girl before. Doesn't mean you had to do any homework; girls here ain't here to be impressed. Lots of virginities were lost in places like this just fine. Maybe if your old man bought you a whore when you were a kid you wouldn't be so... you."  
  Eggs frowned. "Quarts is the only dad I ever had."  
  "Your real dad die? Walk out on you?"  
  "I dunno," Eggs shrugged, nursing his drink. "Me and Biscuit lived in an orphanage and hopped around foster homes sometimes, that kinda thing. That's all I remember."  
  They chatted between long silences, Matchsticks bringing up whatever advice popped into his mind. "You ain't gonna get any of them knocked up, but there's, uh... possibility that you could... catch something, if you ain't careful." A cruel smile on his face, he added, "you really want to learn about STDs, go ask Itchy. They're like brothers."  
  After a while, Matchsticks and Eggs got up, moving back towards the front desk. The carapace girl was up there faster. She rung a little bell, and a familiar-looking Dersite in an elaborate dress strutted down the steps, nearly tripping halfway down. Eggs stared, suddenly recognizing him as the one whom strangely liked to be called _Magdalena_.  
  "Customers?" The Dersite said. "Oh, hello Matchsticks. Brought a friend this time? How nice. We offer threesomes at a discounted rate now-"  
  "Nonono, I don't want no threesomes with him, CM," Matchsticks quickly said, waving his hands. "He can do that himself if he wants. Besides, he's practically my fucking nephew."  
  "I am?"  
  Magdelena shrugged. He clapped his hands and shouted in a shrill, demanding voice, " _Ladiiiies!"_  
  Down the stairs they marched, Prospitans and Dersites, lining up before the two men. One of the last women to join was another kind of alien-- and a damn frightening looking one, being essentially a man-sized, upright rattlesnake.  
  "What the hell is that one and why is it a choice?" Eggs leaned towards Matchsticks, whispering. He chuckled.  
  "Just a seerix. They mostly keep to their own district, or places like Kashmir. I don't know what fucking weirdo would seriously want to fuck one, none of them have tits or even proper cunts, but I guess there's a market. And lost bets." He shoved Eggs forward. "Pick one."  
  The seerix, he wanted nothing to do with. The buxom Dersite woman next to her, however, caught his attention.  
  
  That was a long, eventful day. Much later that night, Eggs returned home wasted with a mouthfull of cheap cigarettes, stumbling into the kitchen to hover over and spew into the sink. Clover happened to be raiding the fridge that night. He watched with barely contained laughter.  
  "Holy shit Eggsy. You alright?"  
  Matchsticks was not far behind. He gave Eggs' back a playful slap before leaving, presumably to his room. "He's good," he said with a curt laugh.  
  "Y-yeah, I'm--" Eggs looked up briefly, unable to finish slurring out that sentence before another wave hit him. "...okay. Ohh gross... oh no my cigs!" Clover climbed up the counter, carefully avoiding the mess.  
  "Since when did you start smoking so much?" Clover said.  
  "Since, uhh, since," Eggs stammered, "since they make me look cool."  
  Clover snorted. "Yeah. Sure. You're looking real cool right now, champ!"  
  Eggs leaned over and dry heaved a bit. "I-I, I so, I don't, not right now, but when I'm not... this. Hey Clove', guess what! I got a tattoo! Wanna see?"  
  Clover said, "That depends on where you got it."  
  Eggs started rolling up his sleeve, almost losing his balance when removing his hand from the sink. "It's uh, just on my, the thing with hands at the arm. Shoulder. That. I got a sweet firebird! 'Cause it's like, they're like, symbols for... something I don't remember, but it's so badass." He peeled back the bandage covering his new ink. "It hurt like hell 'cause they usually, like, do this to guys with... like... _shells_."  
  Clover leaned in and squinted at the tattoo. He giggled. "Well, it _is_ a bird. And it is on fire. Sticks really let you get that? What a dick."  
  "Wah?" Eggs then, for the first time, took a _good_ look at the flaming Marshmallow Peep that now adorned his shoulder, forever. "Oh. Oh... oh damn it."  
  "It's real sexy, you ladykiller you!" Clover tittered. "Oh cheer up! I'm sure it'll turn _someone_ on. Sawbuck's prolly into that."  
  "Clove' shut up!" Eggs laughed, nearly falling over. "You--you-- you... you... eat food too. It uh, it just says now how t... tasty I am. Uh. Nevermind."  
  Clover took Eggs' hand, a large sandwich clutched under his other arm. "C'mon, Eggsy. I think you need to lay down."  
  "You need to lay down!"  
  "Uh-huh. Wait-- are you done upchucking?"  
  "I think so."  
  "Alrighty. Better sleep on your side just in case!""  
  "Oh oh you know what else I did today?" Eggs said. "I got laid!"  
  Clover smiled. "Heh. I don't suppose a chicken was involved!"  
  "Wh... what?" Eggs said, confused. "What does that have to... no. It was a girl! It was so awesome, like the awesomest thing that ever awesomed! I was like, I, did stuff to her. Then I put my thing in her thing and we did the... thing. I broke the, uh... dick glove, but that was an accident. She wasn't happy and I felt bad but then Sticks told me I shouldn't feel bad for a whore, also we're not even the same race thingy, and then he took me to the bar. I feel bad though, is that bad? It was still cool. But, but but now I-I need... to cuddle someone. I want to cuddle Die. She kinda reminded me of him. Where's Die?"  
  "What? I'm not cuddly enough for you?" Clover said, feigning offense. "I was just with Die. We were hanging out in my room tonight. Got him a little special _somethin'_ to hopefully incite his appetite a bit, hehe. I think we got enough for one more, if you wanna join in."  
  "Join in with wha... oh! Wait!" Eggs said, "I get it now. 'Cause chickens lay eggs. That's... sorta funny."  
  
  Eventually, Eggs asked Die up to the spare room. He had made it completely his own, regardless of Clover's adamant admonitions. So far, it had seemed like an ordinary living space. No more temporal effects than what was typical for the house, no misplaced gateways to hell. He thought he saw a face once. It turned out to be his reflection in the window, but he could still not shake off the feeling that something was perpetually haunting him. Eggs was sure, however, that it was not the room.  
  Nothing weird. Just a lot of dust. He tried to assure Die of that, whom was a tad wary, on the way up. Once Die saw what Eggs had done with the place, he relaxed slightly. Shutting the door behind them, Eggs switched on a lamp, and showed Die around. Silvery duct tape was everywhere, pulling together furniture and cloth, sculpted into crude but identifiable structures, ubiquitous like the dust and cobwebs that once covered the space. The large couch, the centerpiece built around the window, had been transformed into a bed with a castle-like canopy and pillars of chairs taped together, a web of silver stretched between them. Shelves of books and trinkets sat on either end like headboards. A couple of electric fans were powered on, facing the construct. He had made a fort.  
  Eggs beckoned Die to sit on the edge with him, where the nice cool breeze could graze over them.  
  "I would think you'd be sick of castles by now," Die said. "But, uh," he touched the chair tower, pushing at it a little to test its sturdiness. It held. "You certainly have developed a skill here." He leaned over and checked the nearest duct tape shelf. Somehow, it held several novels, the egg timer, a plastic dinosaur ( _Not sick of these, either?),_ a very compromising photo of Snowman, and above it all was the Uzi, mounted with metal hooks.  
  "Oh, it's not done yet!" Eggs said. "I still need, like, flags and shit. And dragons. And when I find a computer that isn't tiny I'm gonna build it into there too and figure that whole thing out. Gonna look at porn _all day long_ like all the time. That's what those things are for, right?"  
  "Where did you get this photo?" Die said, unable to avert his gaze from it for long. Eggs leaned over Die's shoulder, practically on top of him as he reached over and picked it up. "It's awesome, huh? Sometimes I forget you like girls too."  
  "Everyone forgets," Die said.  
  "Well," Eggs said, "you do give Crowbar a lot of googly eyes, even with Snowman in the same room."  
  "I do not do that!" Die suddenly said. "D-do I? Oh fuck." Eggs laughed. "So!" Die said, "um, what did you bring me up here for? Not just to show off your duct tape skills, I suppose?"  
  Eggs wrapped his arms around Die's torso, holding him closely from behind. "A little. But, maybe I mostly invited you here for some private, just-us makeouts. We should've started using this room sooner. Letting Biscuit, uh... help... a couple days ago was... uhh. Interesting. Man I still can't believe he knew."  
  Die smiled and tilted his head, kissing Eggs' cheek. "Really? You can't believe it? We were right under him the whole time, what did you expect was going to happen? And just because you muffle it under a pillow, it doesn't make that ringing noise silent. That thing is fucking loud, heavy sleeper or not."  
  "Okay, right, I guess!" Eggs said. "Whatever. You sure seemed to want to keep it quiet when we first started, though. You sure are not-caring about this all of the sudden."  
  Die nervously chuckled. "It's... n-not as if I wanted to shout out to the world what we were doing. Especially considering it was... you. But you've mostly shucked off that old rep, and no one seems to significantly care about what we do together. The others like you, or at least don't mind you much anymore. Being close to Quarters doesn't hurt. I guess I feel a little safer with that in mind, I don't know. And, everyone knowing means less pressure to stay secretive, n-not that I want to make it official and step out of the closet. There's significantly less kinkiness too, but it's okay. Still have plenty of kinks and toys to play with. We can fuck in the kitchen or the foyer if we want to recapture some of that old feeling. Or... if you _really_ wanted privacy, we could have... well," he dug his doll from his pocket and shrugged.  
  "I... never thought of it," Eggs said. "Wow. Uh. P-point is, uh... people... uhh. I don't know about any of that. I just wanna do it in my cool fort. Can we do it in here?"  
  "Ha. Fine. Whatever you want," Die said. He scooted up on the bed and lay on his back, and Eggs lay at his side. Die lifted his chin, allowing Eggs' mouth better access to his neck as he left wet little marks of affection. He stroked Eggs' head with one hand, and started stroking himself through his pants with the other.  
  "Hey," Eggs said into his flesh, "remember when you said you never had a girlfriend or a boyfriend or whatever before?"  
  "You're not going to propose to me, are you. You're not getting me in a dress... uh, _again_."  
  Eggs lifted with a snort and chuckle, "Noo! I was just thinkin', y'know, you've gotten to be one of, like, my best friends in the word."  
  "Same," Die said, reaching up and planting a little series of lip touches to Eggs' forehead. He shut his eyes and leaned into his kisses.  
  "I love you a lot," Eggs said. "A real lot... um... I mean, I couldn't be the only one ever, right? Uh, who liked you a lot, I mean."  
  "So," Die said, "amnesia? Is that what you're implying? Shit. If that was the case... it couldn't have ended well. Look where I ended up. I'd rather continue to believe I was alone. Besides, I have you and Clover now. I'm content, even happy sometimes. Eggsy... I love you too."  
  Eggs leaned over and brushed his lips against Die's and slipped a hand into his pants, feeling him and tasting him. Die pulled him in closer, both arms wrapped around his shoulders, mouth open and hips pushing into that warm touch.  
  He separated, just barely, and whispered, "You've gotten better at this."  
  Eggs smiled. "I bet my mouth got better at... uh... other mouth things too. I got some experience. I think I can make it work with guys."  
  With a snicker, Die said, "Okay, um, maybe you should just stop speaking now. Still not great at dirty talk. Funny, but no good for the mood."  
  "How am I supposed to practice then?"  
  Die pushed at him, urging him onto his back so he could straddle and kiss him harder. "Shh," he said, then looked towards the shelf on the other end of the fort. "Where's that ball gag I gave you? Ahh, here we go. Don't worry, I'll let you practice later." Die leaned in close. "And take me with you next time you go get _experience_."  
  
  Normally, Eggs would fall asleep not too long after a fuck, if he did not have to get up and leave after. Tonight, however, he would toss, turn, stretch his limbs. Eggs' back was turned when Die rose up partway, placing a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it a bit.  
  Half-jokingly, Die said, "Staying in the same bed doesn't work so well when neither of us can sleep."  
  Eggs whimpered, "S-sorry." He pulled his knees up closer to his stomach. "You wanna go? Go if you want," he said with a sniffle.  
  "Are... are you okay? Eggs?" Die pulled himself up into a sitting position. "I... suppose not."  
  "Sorry," Eggs said, voice breaking. "I was so happy when we were making out and everything and I dunno I just crashed and I don't know why this keeps happening. Oh shit, sorry, sorry, I don't wanna b-bring you down. Just go take the bed in my room. You just look so much happier lately and... sorry." Die slid back onto his side, spooning Eggs and interlacing his long skinny fingers with the other's big, soft ones.  
  "Not unless I need to," Die said. "I'm not leaving."  
  "...okay, if you want. Th-thanks. O-oh, your other hand, it's, uh... could you... ?"  
  "Hm?" Die said. "You want me to-"  
  Eggs crooned. "Ahh, yeah, that's good. Little lower now. That's really goo-- ahh! Ha- ahh!"  
  As Die segued from scratching to tickling, Eggs turned over and snatched Die and got him back, sending Die into a fit of breathy laughter.  
  "Oh fuck-- ! S-st-stop th-tha-ahh-haha--mmm-!"  
  Eggs stopped abruptly and pulled Die in for a kiss, which he returned eagerly.  
  With a little smile, Eggs said, "...I feel a little better now."  
  Die patted Eggs' cheek. "Good. Now sleep."  
  "What if I caught your insomnia?"  
  "Insomnia isn't like herpes, Eggsy."  
  
  Die awoke a few hours later, Eggs' arm curled about his torso. His partner was finally asleep, tears dried on his cheeks, but at peace. It pained Die to see him so depressed.  
  He shut his eyes; he was comfortable like this. He enjoyed the heat of Eggs' body, his soothing, deep breathing against his neck... being held so intimately. He felt loved, moments like these. He really did.  
  He also really hoped that he would fall asleep again, which was far easier said than done. Die came close once, drifting off, only for his body to violently twitch and rip him from that state like a shock. Eggs stirred but did not wake. Turning over to kiss his cheek, as he had always done before getting up, Die searched for and slipped on his pants. The need to piss superseded comfort, for now. True to his word, he would return.  
  Strange noises drew him towards the kitchen. Die slowly started down the stairs, holding tightly to the rail. He was stronger now, but still damaged, still easily winded. He peeked into the kitchen and spotted Itchy, dressed in a casual getup. In the light of the open fridge, Die saw a long scar, running from his neck to his chest.  
  "Hey douchebag," Itchy said, noticing Die immediately. "How's the douchebaggin' going? Douchey? Aw, don't go, I'm not done calling you a fucking douchebag yet!"  
  "Itchy...."  
  He slammed the fridge and stormed up to him, jamming a finger into his chest. With clenched teeth, he said, "You were gonna fucking leave me behind. After all I did, I can't fucking believe you, you worthless shit."  
  Die shoved his hand away, trying his hardest to suppress his rage. " I... I suppose you did help."  
  "I sewed your fucking face back together! You were ugly before I got a hold of you. You're still ugly, but I toned it down for you. You're welcome, you faggot-asshole-douchebag-beanpole! "  
  "And you wonder why I didn't want you anywhere near here," Die narrowed his eyes, trembling as he spoke. "Wish I had my gun. Eggs isn't here to protect you."  
  "Oh, now the big man's making some big damn threats!" Itchy laughed. It was cut short when Die snatched a glass bottle from the counter and slammed it upside his head, introducing Itchy to the floor. Die let himself fall onto him, constricting a hand around Itchy's neck while the other raised the slightly bloodied bottle once again-- "Fuck! Holy fuck, wait a minute, okay, I'm sorry!" Die would have hit him again if Itchy had not kneed him in the stomach and kicked him off. They wrestled momentarily for the bottle, Itchy easily overpowering him and slapping it away, the thing hitting the floor with such a loud _CLINK_ that it ought to have awakened the entire house.  
  "Accept my fucking apology!" Itchy shouted.  
  "Fuck you," Die groaned. "I hate you. I fucking hate you. I'll kill you one day I fucking promise I will _kill you_ and it will not be clean, or quick. I'll make you _suffer_."  
  "You're such a big fucking baby," Itchy said. "Okay, I called you a few names and stowed away, and you're gonna torture and kill me. Nice. Real nice. What do Eggs and Clover see in you, again?"  
  Die sighed, struggled a bit. "F-fuck."  
  "Maybe we should start over," Itchy said. "Alright? Alright. I'm sorry for the knifing and the names and general dickery. Now, you go."  
  "F... fine," Die said. "You... you did... help. I never thanked you for that. So. Thanks."  
  "Okay, fine, whatever, but where's the fucking apology?"  
  "Apology for _what_?"  
  "For leaving me behind you fuck!" Itchy shouted. Someone (it sounded like Matchsticks) cried out from afar _SHUT THE FUCK UP I'M TRYING TO SLEEP_ followed by a loud wave of agreement.  
  "I'm not fucking apologizing for anything," Die said. "You could have gone away with the other Clover."  
  "Fuck that. You were going home right then and there. How was I gonna pass that shit up again?"  
  "Fine. Whatever. Fuck it," Die sighed. "Let me up."  
  Itchy tentatively did. "Didn't want to be straddling a fucking half naked douchebag all night anyway. Fucking gay."  
  "Pile it on," Die said, slowly pulling himself back up by the countertop. "More insults, please. Call me a douchebag again."  
  Itchy smiled and brought out a thermos, filling it with fresh coffee that had been percolating. "Maybe later. Can't have you getting used to it now! Loses its bite." He took a sip. "Goddamn I missed this fucking shit. You like coffee, dickslapper?"  
  "Not really," Die muttered, leaning against the counter. Briefly, he wondered where Krathoid was. She had bitten him pretty damn hard, and Eggs said there was a mark. As if on cue, the creature poked her big long head out from the hallway, right behind Itchy. She nipped gently at his shoulder.  
  "Aw, you want some too, babe?" Itchy said, holding the coffee pot out in front of Krathoid. She inquisitively bit the lip of the pot a few times, testing it, before quickly losing interest. "She's a real fucking handful sometimes," Itchy said, pushing her head away. She snapped at his hand-- missing. "I _guess_ it's a she; that's what the tag said but who really fucking knows. I don't see a cock. No titties either. Whatever. Who the fuck else can say they have a goddamn ridable pet pterodactyl of any kind, huh? Anyway, nice chatting, but Krath's getting antsy. Better get outta here. Can't wait to see how you'll keep your promise," he shoved the thermos into a satchel hanging off of Krathoid's side and stepped up onto her, straddling her neck. "You'd better have Clover's help 'cause I'm on a fucking dinosaur."  
  He squeezed the base of her neck, and she backed out and galloped like a horse down the hall, disappearing around a corner.  
  "What the _fuck_ was that?"  
  Die startled and turned, finding their own Itchy standing there, staring in disbelief.  
  
  _"Coming up next on MCLR we got some Bad Salad, with..._ I Fucked the Pool Boy Who Fucked your Girlfriend, Thus Fucking Her by Proxy, Sucker. _Really? That is a long ass title for a song, Bad Salad, once again, god damn it._ "  
  "Isn't that Itchy's band?" Clover said.  
  "Wait," Eggs said, "Which Itchy, and he has his own band?"  
  Die scoffed. "This radio station will play anything."  
  "They really will!" Clover said. "You can walk right into that radio station and they'll put you on the air. They don't care! Hmm, okay," Clover manipulated the cards on his side of the table, and lay down another from his hand. "Tapping these islands and playing Frozen Æther. All your cards now come in tapped!"  
  "That's how you pronounce that?" Eggs said.  
  Biscuits grimaced and tilted one of his cards, playing, "Pyroblast!"  
  "Counterspell!"  
  "Yeah, well... Lightning Bolt!"  
  "... _Really_?"  
  "Oh, oh, guys," Eggs said, "about that radio station... let's start a band, just us!"  
  Die said, "...With you and Biscuits?"  
  Eggs sulked a little. "Oh. Good point."  
  "So Eggsy!" Biscuits suddenly said, "I was wonderin', didja ever figure out that thing with my thing?"  
  "Your what?"  
  "My, y'know. My oven," he said. "Did it do anything cool?" Eggs glanced at Clover and Die, and both of them shook their heads at him, mouthing _don't_. Eggs hesitated.  
  "Uh, I... I don't... hey Biscuit, you know what's more fun than ovens? I gotta show you guys this awesome strip club I found. We can go after the game. I'll tell you all about it on the way!"  
  "You guys can go ahead," Clover said, "Uh, I'm not dressed for... that."  
  "Clove'... it's a _strip club_ ," Die said.  
  Eggs said. "C'mon, have you even left the house lately? That must be drivin' you crazy inside!"  
  "Seriously!" Biscuits said, "she started hangin' out with _me_."  
  "I leave the house!" Clover said. "Just not... as much. So, I guess... okay, I'll go with you guys. Just remind me to go grab my big hat."  
  
  In his explorations, Eggs had found a place called _Double Scoop,_ located closer to the downtown area, tucked away from the main roads as if it were shy. The strip joint seemed like many others, filled with thumping music, with lighted stage and cute carapace dancers. There was a bar on one side, a series of privacy booths on the other, and a small handfull of gigantic carapaces working security, watching over the girls and customers like silent sentries. It was also chilled inside. The air conditioning and full nudity was not the reason why _Double Scoop_ was popular, but for the product kept hidden behind the bar: ice cream.  
  Should he have the extra cash, it was something Eggs would make time for. He was not the only gangster that gathered here, either. Hatchets, Violence Group, the Midnight City Bar Association, Clubs Deuce was in there once or twice that he saw. He supposed it was a sanctuary of sorts. No fighting allowed, or the guards and dancers would get violent.  
  Today was a tad different.  
  "I got a weird feeling about this place," Clover said, crawling up onto the dash of the van. There were several heavy duty motorcycles parked outside, much like Eggs'.  
  "It should be pretty safe," Eggs said from the back seat. "But, I started bringing my gun everywhere, just in case, y'know, if that helps." He lifted one side of his jacket, his Uzi secured in a gun pocket. As they entered the building, they found the place devoid of life, dotted with bodies, turned over tables and spilled drinks and cones. The large bouncer that usually stood guard was now more like a pedestrian speed bump blemishing the floor. Except for the music, it was silent.  
  Eggs drew his weapon, and Die's hands, trembling, now each held a revolver. Biscuits cracked his knuckles.  
  "Hey, you guys know what this means?" Clover said, dashing to the bar. "Free ice cream!"  
  Eggs lowered his Uzi, approaching a soft serve disguised as a sugar-free drink fountain. "Well, more free than usual! I don't gotta pretend like I'm a crazy murderer for free stuff today. That's good." He knelt and twisted and opened his mouth under the nozzle to fill his face. Biscuits followed suit.  
  "How does anyone take a threat from you seriously?" Clover said. Behind the counter, he stood on a stool and lifted a wooden panel that made up part of the table surface, revealing a cool glass case and several flavors of ice cream. Die leaned over, checking it out.  
  Biscuits stopped the flow a moment. "I taught him how to act all tough! He's still no good at it, but he's pretty big, so it works anyways."  
  "Hey shut up," Eggs said, "I am _too_ scary, and not just cause I'm big. I mean, I gotta use cash most of the time here 'cause of the huge guards, but the rest of the time I'm... scary." He made a face and jerked his body in an attempt to be intimidating. "See... Die, you seen me be threatening, right?"  
  "Whatever works for you," Die said, "Clove', did you just eat that whole... ? Nevermind, of course you did."  
  "Snooze ya loose," Clover shrugged, licking up the last of the tub of mint. Die stepped away to check out the carnage. He recognized the motif of a few rival gang members: primarily Hatchet, and, strangely, Syndicate. That the desert cutthroats had had a gathering in here made it less of a surprise to see dead bouncers, but they at least appeared to take the Syndicate members down with them. Some had bled out from gunfire, some from deep, wide cuts, some wounds he could not quite identify. Whatever happened, it was a goddamn clusterfuck, and the Felts were lucky to have arrived when it was over.  
  "Die, babe," Clover said, "if you _gotta_ molest the bodies, do it someplace we can't see!"  
  He looked straight at Clover and rolled his eyes playfully, but his expression became more solemn when he noticed the door behind Clover-- it appeared to be a vault, a freezer-- was slightly ajar. He climbed up over the counter, with a little difficulty, and held up his guns. "Eggs. Biscuits," he said.  
  They quickly joined him. "So?" Biscuits said. "It's a door and it's cold and you can't eat it."  
  "Dare ya to lick it," Clover said.  
  "Challenge accepted!" Biscuits said, sticking out his tongue. Eggs held him back.  
  "No, Biscuit!"  
  He stopped and gave him a look. "C'mon, I ain't _that_ dumb. I wasn't gonna lick the knob part. _Germs_."  
  "We'll talk about not licking frozen metal later," Die said, "b-but someone's behind this door, I know it. We... we should leave."  
  Eggs drew his Uzi. "Who's back there?" he said at the door. To Die, he whispered, "What if it's one of ours in there? Or a _girl_?"  
  "Don't you think they would have said something, then?" Clover said. "Hmm, or maybe they're just... _out cold_ , hehe."  
  Biscuits laughed. "Cause it's a freezer and they might be knocked out!"  
  Clover sighed. "Yes, thank you for explaining the joke, Biscuits."  
  "I'm just makin' sure _you_ get it!" Biscuits said defensively.  
  "That doesn't make any sense!"  
  Eggs took the edge of the door and pulled it open. There in the freezer were three Prospitan Hatchet gangsters, shivering and hugging themselves in their frosty-looking white and gold, blood-smeared uniforms.  
  "Put down the goddamn guns!" one of them said. "We're unarmed!" The one behind him, wearing two monocles, shifted an object on his belt out of view.  
  "Bullshit!" Biscuits said, "your arms are right there!"  
  The third Hatchet reached into his jacket. Die's finger twitched and he fired at the man without hesitation. The recoil still caught him, though not as badly as it once did.  
  "Holy shit, TM!" said the one in back.  
  "Fucking green sons of...." the first Hatchet said, "fucking, you can't be frogs, can you? This isn't right," he reached behind him, "I'll fix it-"  
  Die fired again, and the man fell back with a _thump_ and a gush of blood. He had landed on his axe, driving it into his back. The double-monocled man gasped and backed away, babbling incoherently. Die fired upon him as well.  
  Lowering his weapon, Eggs came up to Die and gently pulled at his shoulder.  
  "Are you okay?"  
  Die put away his weapons, hanging his head. "I... I'm fine. Self defense. More than justified."  
  "I think I knew that guy," Clover said, tilting his head. "Eh. Oh well! Let's grab what we can from the fridge and get the hell outta here. I know the fuzz like to take their sweet time but we don't know how long this crime scene's been marinating!"  
  
  They exited soon after. Once he was sure he heard they were gone, the dual-monocled Hatchet crawled out of the freezer, clutching his non-fatal, but very painful, wound.  
  
  " _FFFUUUUCK!_ "  
  Spades Slick fell to his knees, clutching the side of his car-- spray painted, dented, stripped. All the Scotty dog toys stolen, stickers scraped off. The rest of the Crew, bearing their instruments on their backs, stood a safe distance away.  
  "Oh boss, I'm sorry," Deuce said, hand over his mouth.  
  Slick cried out, shaking with anguish. Boxcars sighed. "Oh boy. Well, look on the bright side, boss! You get the joy of perfectin' that baby all over again. You can rebuild her! Better, stronger-"  
  "Fuck you lardass!" Smashing his cheek against the cold metal, he tenderly ran his fingertips over the busted door as if caressing a lover. "She was perfect."  
  Something glinted in the garage lighting, catching Deuce's attention. He knelt to pick up the little thing: a crude, poorly made pin. "Hey, lookit this!"  
  "Die? Hm," Droog said, taking the pin from Deuce. Slick looked up.  
  "Die?" Slick said, up instantly and in Droog's space, jumping to snatch the pin from his hand. "Fucking, fucking, that green craven piece of... I swear to fuck I will stab him until he's more wound than man! I'll rip out his heart and shit on it! I'll piss on his cat! If he doesn't have one, _I will buy him a cat and then piss on it_!"  
  Boxcars snorted. "Damn, boss, that's a bit fuckin' harsh. What if he likes dogs?" He snickered and mumbled, "considerin' what he stole n' all...."  
  Droog shook his head. "The pin doesn't look right. I don't think-" Slick was already out the garage door "-it's... ugh." Under his breath he said, "Jackass."  
  Boxcars placed a hand on Droog's shoulder. "Any excuse to go kill somethin'."  
  "Uh," Deuce said, "the boss knows we were supposed to go to a gig, right?"  
  "He'll figure it out halfway down the... ahh, there you are," Droog said, as Slick skulked back through that garage door, mumbling about their previous appointment. "Now, can we _please_ take my car?"


	7. CAPER

            Below the busy streets, within their sewer hideout, Hearts Boxcars and Clubs Deuce hovered over a knife-marred table. The floorplan to the Felt Manor lay scribbled over with colorful ink, mostly lines, circles, x’s, margin doodles. Diamonds Droog entered and leaned against the doorway, a lit cig glowing between his fingers.

            “What do you need?” he said.

            Deuce smiled up at him. “We’re gonna go teach The Felt a lesson! It’s a surprise for the boss, to, well, make him feel better.”

            “Y’know,” Boxcars said, “while he’s busy runnin’ around tryin’ to fix up the old flivver again.”

            “We were hopin’ you might lend a hand,” Deuce said. Droog pushed back his sleeve and glanced at his new Rolex watch.

            “I have something to take care of,” he said, smoothing the cloth back over his arm. “Maybe next time.”

            “Aw, you’re always busy,” Deuce said. “You can go beat that guy to death over that botched suit another day, can’t you?”

            Droog’s face softened slightly. “Not if they skip town first.”

            “They ain’t’ quite finished that underground train yet,” Boxcars said. “I think you got some time.”

            “Oooh I wish they’d hurry up with that!” Deuce said, bouncing in his seat.

            “Whaddya gotta go to Kashmir for so fast?” Boxcars said.

            “I don’t care about Kashmir, I just wanna ride that train! It sounds tops.”

            “So how ‘bout it, Droog?” Boxcars said, resting his head on his hand. “Can’t it wait?”

Droog shook his head. “Dogs need to be beaten while the memory’s fresh in their heads, or they’ll never learn. But... I can get a... friend... of mine to help you two out.”

            “A friend?” Boxcars said. “You got other friends? Since when?”

            Droog gave a noncommittal shrug. “ _Friend_ isn’t quite the word, but the details don’t matter. I can get him here and ready in about half an hour. He’ll be instructed not to speak, so don’t try to be too friendly. Call him BB. He’ll do whatever you say. Oh, and,” Droog said, “and I’ll be sure to bring Slick back something nice for his... ugh... _Scottymobile_.” With that, Droog quit the room, leaving a thin trail of smoke in his wake.

“It’s alright,” Boxcars said to Deuce, giving him a big pat on the back. “We’ll come up with a great caper without fancy pants, somethin’ big! Those green assfuckers’ll never screw with us again.

“...Or it’ll horribly backfire and they’ll come at us more pissed and determined to screw us back than ever. But I’m sure Slick’ll enjoy the ruckus.”

            “Well, I hope this new torpedo can handle bombs,” Deuce said. “Lots n’ lots of bombs! I got just the thing-- I’ve been saving it for a special occasion, but this is pretty special....”

 

              _Ding_.

  The pawnbroker cringed. Since the last incident, a stab-proof vest became an obligatory part of his wardrobe. Apprehensively, he peered out from behind the shelf he was stocking. The hefty green fellow in the biker jacket and goggles seemed familiar, somehow. In fact, the jacket itself appeared _quite_ familiar, but he could not quite place _why_. The pawnbroker relaxed. As long as it was not the Midnight Crew....

            The big one had walked in with two others: tall and lanky, and tiny and adorable.The shopkeep greeted them like any other customers, failing to register the meaning of their outfits just then.

            “Hey, you got anymore Magic cards?” the big one said. Nodding, the broker pointed at a box in the corner.

             “Yessir, right over....” he said, voice trailing off mid-sentence. Like a light switch, his dim memory snapped into sudden clarity. As the three of them bent over the box, sorting through the cards and playfully arguing amongst themselves, the carapace quipped, “So, you planning on _paying_ for your goods this time? Neglectful dickishness isn’t legal tender!”

            The little one sang, “Are you gonna call the fuzz on us? Scarr-rry.”

            Said the big one, “Does this city even have police?”

            “Yes, they do!” the pawnbroker said, “and I’m calling them right now!” He snatched the phone, nearly dropping it, and began dialing. Then the skinny one aimed a gun at him.

            “Are bullets legal tender?”

            “I-uh-m. I’m gonna need another vest, aren’t _I-ARGGHHH_.”

 

            “Nice one-liner,” Clover said. Die smiled and tucked away the gun.

            “You son of a bitch!” the pawnbroker cried as he fell to the floor, clutching his seeping chest. “Ohhh fuck youu.”

            “You’re really really like, trigger-happy lately,” Eggs said. “Seriously. You shot that guy that flashed Clover today, too.”

“Shot him in the dick!” Clover laughed. “That will _never_ stop being funny.”

 “And that annoying kid, and those Hatchets, and that guy that was shooting at us...”

             Die said, “He’ll live.”

            The pawnbroker moaned. “You guys suck!”

            Finished with the box of cards, Die commenced a search for books to the right, while Eggs made a beeline, and a hurdle, for the gun display case behind the desk. Clover sauntered down an aisle to the left, shuffling through the junk until something caught his eye. Placing the prize on the bump of his nose, he picked out a cosmetic mirror from the same shelf.

            “Oh wow, look! I think I found a replacement for that big ‘ol hat.”

            “Even bigger hat?” Eggs said. Clover returned to the front, a round pair of black glasses now adorning his face.

            “It’s... it’s cute, right?”

            Die looked up from the pocket knife he had found amongst the dusty books. The instant he laid eyes on Clover, his face lit up with sheer delight. Eggs could not help but mirror the expression.

Said Die,  “A-anything on you is going to be... cute. Absolutely anything.”

            The pawnbroker, hunched over the counter, said, “How do you people even _wear_ glasses?”

            “Uhh... how do _you_?”

            Securing a cloth around his fist, Eggs aimed at and obliterated the glass separating him from the weaponry. He reached inside, tenderly gripping the first gun that caught his attention.

He said, “Hey, we could totally be glasses buddies! If uh... I didn’t throw mine away that one time.”

            Clover giggled. “Well, get another pair! Hm... a sniper rifle, eh?”

            “Oh, yeah,” Eggs said, holding the gun out in the light. “It’s cool, huh? Um watch your step, there’s like, glass all over. Maybe I should learn to snipe. Wasn’t Doze a sniper?”

            “Yyeah, I dunno,” Clover said, joining his side. He pointed at Eggs’ chest. “I haven’t even seen you use that Uzi ever.”

            Eggs felt the Uzi there in his coat, then tilted his head towards Die. “He doesn’t really give me any chances.”

            “Ha,” Die said, thumbing through an old encyclopedia. “Sorry.”

Clover gave the display case a once-over. Primarily, it contained various rifles and shotguns, with a few oddballs here and there. Generally nothing that Quarters could not easily have in his apparent mass reserve. Their prices ranged from costly to outrageous, not that it mattered with Eggs’ gratuitous kleptomania. Clover frowned.

“How come you two have cool guns and all I get are lame kisses?”

            “Aw, they ain’t lame,” Eggs said. “Kissing is awesome. But uhh... why _don’t_ you have a gun?” He pointed. “I mean, they’re right here. Tell me where to punch, and I’ll punch!”

            Clover barked out a sour note of laughter. “Well gee Eggsy, I’d love to be big and strong like your dad and pistolwhip some poor fuck with a mortar, but I don’t have the same... y’know. Dimensions.”

            “He whipped Slick with a grenade launcher that time,” Eggs said.

             Clover waved a finger. “He has a mortar too. I’ve seen him use it.“

            “Heh. Well... yeah I guess these are all kinda big. Do they make kid-sized guns?”

            “Don’t call them _that_ ,” Clover said, crossing his arms. “Y’know, I never really needed a gun before too badly. Guess I gotta look into it. ‘Til then maybe I should learn karate or krav maga or something.” He puffed out his chest and threw a couple quick punches into the air. “Don’t look at me like that! I can learn to kick your ass.”

 _Ding_.

Eggs snickered. “Stick to lookin’ for a gun. Your legs ain’t long enough for that.”

            “Psh. Your ass is big enough.”

            Unnoticed, Die stood beside Eggs, calling his name and tugging at his jacket.

            “Yeah well you’re... uh... uh... shut up!”

            Clover chortled. “Oh, not that it’s a bad thing. I’m sure it’s held off a bullet or two for you.”

            “Eggs!” Die said, acquiring his attention finally. “Visitors... _cops._ ” Eggs and Clover turned, finding themselves face to face with the barrels of several glistening Glocks. The squad of carapace officers the guns belonged to appeared either anxious or annoyed, all except one. The Dersite woman up front bounced with excitement, absolutely fired up.

“Sorry, are we interrupting here? Doesn’t matter. Hands in the air!”

            “Holy shit,” Eggs said. “They _do_ exist... oh hey Clover, you think you could use any of those?”

            Clover said, “Ha! Go back to your donut steakouts or whatever. It’ll be a lot more successful.”

            “Uhh, yeah! ‘Sides,” Eggs said, hand hovering over his chest pocket, “we’re not... whoever it is you want.”

            The Dersite policewoman chuckled. “Really? Maybe you can help us out anyway. We’re looking for a couple of green men. Snazzy dressers, like to shoot guns and threaten people and steal things. Apparently go by the aliases _Eggs_ and _Die_. You green, snazzy dressers with the guns and pockets full of goods know any gentlemen that go by those names and do those things? Hm?”

            Clover whispered, too low for the cops to hear, “Should I be offended that I wasn’t mentioned at all?”

            Eggs exchanged glances with Die and spat out, “Uh no. No. His, uh,” he jutted a thumb at Die, “his name is Leo and I’m Hammond, and that’s our adopted daughter, Clo... e. Chloe. We just came from a costume... card tourney... party. At a shooting range.”

            Die’s head drooped as he muttered some unintelligible curses.

            “What are you doing?” Clover whispered. “I’ve got the silver tongue around here. You’ve got like... I don’t know, whatever the opposite of silver is. I’ll go with it, but next time,” he made a blabbing mouth with his fingers and mimed zipping it shut.

            The policewoman said, “Oh, I see. So, you brought your little girl to a card tournament at a shooting range?”

            “...No babysitter,” Eggs added.

            “Seems legit!” Clover said in as low a baritone as he could muster, having snuck in behind the policemen.

            “So what’s with the getups, then?” she said, leaning in, gesturing with her baton.

            Dryly, Die said, “Billiards themed.”

            “Billiards?” she said, scratching her head. “I always figured you were the Bingo Squad or some shit.”

            “Bingo?” Clover said. “We’re _The Felt_. Morons.”

            “Aha! Bingo!” she said. “I mean, gotcha!”

            “Ohh,” Clover groaned. “Alright Eggsy, you can do the talking from now on, sorry.” He made the same zipper motion over his own mouth.

            “Okay, enough bullshitin’!” the policewoman said, brandishing baton and gun like an overly excited child. “C’mon, hands in the air! Hope you stole some lotion too ‘cause you have yourselves a hot date at the prison tonight!”

            “Uhhh,” Eggs laughed nervously, “Sorry, I don’t like prison food... bye!”

            In a single motion, Eggs snatched Die and Clover up and, shoulder outward, plowed through the line of officers like a fleshy battering ram. Failing to stop at the door, he partially took it with him. A police car accompanied by motorcycles circled Bacon like steel sharks. Eggs carefully let his friends down, shook off the door frame, and shoved over one of the bikes. These vehicles were thinner yet still rather heavy-duty, providing some difficulty. They were armored, and boasted spike-lined spokes that jutted out like thagomizers.

            The policewoman said, “Aw yeah, time for some action!” followed by several disgruntled groans. The squadron spilled out from the gaping entrance like ants. The Felts’ general direction became peppered with gunfire as they all moved to mount or enter their vehicles.

            “Idiots,” Clover laughed. While Eggs fixed his goggles, Die returned fire. Eggs wasted no time in getting them going once secured, and the police pursued.

            Eggs glanced behind at the flashing lights, the wailing sirens. “They’re chasing us?” he shouted. “ _Really_?”

            He swerved through clotted traffic that only continued to thicken as he drove. Clumsily, he dashed down backways, smashing, nicking things unfortunate enough to be in the general vicinity. The car, they shook off with ease-- perhaps the driver was not trying particularly hard-- but the bikers kept on his tail, often flanking him. They were far more experienced riders, and their bikes far more maneuverable. Mentally, Eggs thanked Clover again and again just for being his friend.

            Repeatedly they attempted to ram him, close in or bottleneck him. The policewoman acted way too enthusiastic about justice for his liking, grinning wide as she tried to rend his tires and scratch the badass paintjob Biscuits had done for him.

            Die long expended the ammo in both revolvers without deterring them, his earlier shootouts having left him light on reserves. He instead clung to Clover’s torso as if his life depended on it, and not only because Eggs’ driving grew more and more haphazard. He scraped against other vehicles, nearly crashed into pedestrians and posts. He hit a raised median at exactly the right angle to almost topple the normally stable machine.

             “Oh shit, oh shiiit!” Eggs struggled and regained control, but not without destroying a trash can and a restaurant's outdoor section. “Aw shit, did I hit that guy?”

            “You hit a lot of things!” Clover said, his eyes locked behind him. “Just keep driving!”

            “ _Why_ are they still chasing us?” Eggs said, shifting to see.

Die screamed, “Watch the fucking road!”

            Eggs turned and cried out, skidding to an abrupt stop inches away from a railroad. A highly inconvenient cargo train zoomed past like a bullet.

            “No worries!” Clover said with a wavering voice, barely audible over the iron horse. “R... right?”

            “R-right,” Die breathed, too quietly to be heard. The police bikes closed shortly.

            “Eggs!” Clover said, “you sure you didn’t tell Biscuits how to use the oven? I’m-- he might h-have--”

            “I didn’t tell him!” Eggs said. “But... it’s not really that hard to... I mean, maybe... no!”

            The policewoman, shaking with adrenaline, whipped out her Glock and baton.

            “You guys are fun,” she said.

            “Yeah... fun,” one of the other officers sighed. “Can we get this over with alread... y... ? What’s that?”

            As if a storm cloud had rolled in, the ground became cast in shadow. Krathoid swooped in between Bacon and the police, screeching like a banshee loud enough to eclipse the train’s whistle. Hearing the thing wail like this was jolting enough for those that remember how mindless and quiet it used to be, but the very sight of the allegedly extinct lessaloploth must have caught the police off-guard.

             “Itchy!” Eggs shouted. Itchy, in protective clothing and headgear-- including earmuffs-- acknowledged them briefly. He guided Krathoid, and she stepped forward with another energetic cry before leaping straight into the air. Diving down onto the nearest cop, her jagged beak ripped at the officer’s face.The other officers panicked and opened fire. Krathoid leaped again to maul the next officer.

            The train passed. Itchy shouted, “The fuck are you staring at, smarty? Go, gogogo!”

            Eggs nodded and revved up his bike, taking off over the now clear railroad tracks. He relaxed and rode smoothly onwards, taking a few divergent paths just to make sure they were safe.

            “Being a gangster’s hard sometimes,” Eggs said.

            “Living legit is harder,” Clover said. “Well, not for me I guess. Just not as fun!”

            Eggs suddenly shouted and jolted, releasing the handlebars to swat at the air, prompting confused glances from Die and Clover.

            “Uh, um, sorry,” Eggs said, regaining control quickly, “Th-there was a... a spider on the... what?”

They eventually found an agreeable place to a stop. Eggs stashed Bacon in the lush bushes of the Oasis Hotel’s front property. The three took much needed break at a shady stone bench near an artificial pond.

            Die fingered one of his revolvers. “What... w-what was Itchy trying to do back there, do you think?”

            “Uh, I’m more worried about y’know,” Eggs said, twiddling his fingers, “the police being so, like... doing their jobs.”

            Die said, “I... killed and injured quite a few people since coming back home. I... must have pissed someone off.” He palmed his face and muttered into his hand. Eggs leaned into Die and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, giving him a loose hug. Die let his head rest in Eggs’ chest.

            “Well, nobody was hurt,” Eggs said. “Uh... nobody important. It’s okay.”

            Clover touched Die’s hand. “Yeah, the worst that can happen is a lot of thrills and chills!” Clover sat in Die’s lap and touched their lips together, then leaned further and planted a quick one on Eggs as well. “I got your back. Both of yours.”

            Eggs smiled. “You’re awesome, Clove’.”

            Clover grinned. “It’s in my nature!” He lowered his voice and brushed Die’s cheek with his palm. “It’s gonna be alright, see?”

            “Th-thank you,” Die said. He kissed Clover’s forehead. “I... um. Shit. I suppose I should... um.” He stared at his empty revolvers. “... _Conserve_ ammo. Probably.”

             “Hey,” Eggs said, “You guys ever see the inside of this hotel? Holy crap, this place is fancy. Wanna check out the inside? I’ve only been in the lobby, but man it’s classy.”

            “I... no, I haven’t seen it,” Die said. “Okay. But, the police? There um, there was only that small squad but, but... better to be safe.”

            “No prob!” Clover said. “You don’t need to shoot or scare anyone. The place isn’t only Prospit-owned, it’s... well, you see all the frog stuff! It’s nuts. I can weasel us into a bigass suite,” he winked. “I’m just a cute little froggy, as far as they’re concerned. Go park Bacon in the underground garage. I got the rest!” Clover fixed the glasses that had miraculously stuck to his face through the rocky escape. “These... look okay, right? I look okay?”

 

In practically no time, Eggs and Die and Clover stood at the entrance of a massive suite, decorated in much the same way as the rest of the hotel. The amphibian influence was much toned down within the actual room, but no less grandiose, equipped with dining area and kitchenette, work desk, living space, bar, all in one large room, slathered with gold. The separate bedroom contained one massive, heated, fluffy bed, spacious even for Eggs. The idea had him giggling like Clover as he dropped himself onto it, spreading his arms and legs without touching the edge. To one side perched a shaded balcony flanked by billowing curtains, and the other: a bathroom even bigger than the bedroom, with shower and jacuzzi and stereo.

On top of it all: wonderful, wonderful air conditioning.

“Holy crap. This place is _fancy_ ,” Eggs said.

 

Together, they lounged on the couch of the balcony, helping themselves to the extra bar there. With a view overlooking much of Midnight City and part of the lake, the glass that made up the floor could be quite unnerving. The pamphlet assured that it held for even large, brutish carapaces, and Clover was with him after all, but it still left Eggs slightly paranoid.

            He spooned Die chastely, which helped calm him. Clover used both of them like pillows, laying back and bouncing one leg over his knee as he sipped his drink.

             “So, we chill here for the day, let the heat die down,” Clover said. “Long as they don’t sic helicopters on us, I think we’re good!”

            Clover had just finished his sentence when Krathoid crashed straight down from the sky, landing with a cringe-worthy _THUD_ onto the glass floor. Itchy cursed shrilly as Krathoid stumbled up onto her four limbs, confused as hell, but not seriously injured. The floor held up, thankfully, though it came out of the awful landing with new scuffs and scratches. Itchy shook off that embarrassing plunge by dusting himself off and putting on a smug _I did that on purpose_ face.

            “Thereee you are,” Itchy said, sliding off of Krathoid. He removed his headgear, jamming it into the sidesaddle, then swaggered (with a slight limp, Eggs noticed) towards the bar. He leaned against the table and made himself a drink while Krathoid pecked and scratched at the clear floor.

            “What do you want?” Die said, sitting straight up and almost knocking Clover’s drink from his hands. “S-sorry,” he whispered to him.

             “A drink,” Itchy said, swirling his glass. “No, don’t get up or nothing. I got it.” He sneered at Die. “So how’s that promise coming, killer?” Die clenched his fingers, but said nothing. Itchy continued. “Those coppers are still searching for you dumbasses. I don’t know what the fuck you did,” he laughed, “but it must’ve been good to get them off their asses. _Fucking good._ ” He took a good swig of his drink.

            “You didn’t kill them?” Die said.

            “Hey, they have guns, I have this stupid window magnet,” Itchy said, pointing at Krathoid. “And I don’t want this thing hurt. That’s my ride and my pet, you ungrateful shit. So, seriously, the fuck did you do?”

            “Doesn’t matter!” Clover said. “It’s the _MCPD_. Eggsy here didn’t even think they existed for a while there. They’re like unicorns! _Incompetent_ unicorns.”

“I was mostly joking ‘bout that, but... yeah.”

            “Only one of them actually gave a big damn. We can take her out,” Clover said with a wicked grin.

            “Yeah well, good fucking luck with all that,” Itchy said. “I saw some of them headed towards the manor, too.”

            “ _MCPD_ ,” Clover repeated.

            “Tch. If you’re so confident, why did you run?” Itchy said.

            Die said, “Why are you trying to help us? _What do you want_?”

            Itchy held up his hands. “Why should I want anything? Maybe I want to be helpful, huh? Did you ever think of that? I mean,” he chuckled, “we’re all pals here, right?”

            Die asked Clover to move, then stormed across the balcony, shoving a finger into Itchy’s chest. “I’m not apologizing to you,”

            Itchy shoved him back. “So when’s the killing start, then? Where are your big damn threats now? Haha, oh wait,” Itchy tilted to the right, giving the confused Eggs and Clover a look. “Your boyfriend’s here. You’re not gonna do anything to me, you stupid shit.”

            Die drew his revolver, Itchy’s eyes shooting wide open the instant he spotted it. He braced himself for a bullet, but received a swift pistolwhipping to the forehead instead. Falling backwards into the bar, spilling drinks and knocking glasses to the floor, Itchy clutched his opened wound and shouted incomprehensibly. Krathoid startled and lept from the balcony, flying up and out of sight.

            “You fuck-- you-- did you _have_ to hit me in the same goddamn place as last time? Jesus fuck, you asshole!” Blood blossomed and drained from Itchy’s head, and from glass shards that had embedded themselves in his arms. He kept himself mostly upright, using the table as a support. Die raised his gun once more, Itchy clenched his eyes shut. Eggs dived in between them.

            “Guys,” Eggs said breathlessly, “What the _hell_?”

            “Yeah,” Itchy said, one eye cautiously opening. “Why didn’t you just shoot me, dumbass?”

            “Oh, you want me to shoot you?” Die said.  “Eggs, I need your gun.”

            “There’s something fucking wrong with you!” Itchy shouted, forcing himself up on his feet. “You need to calm your fucking psycho tits. Why are you still so pissed at me? What’s your fucking problem?” To Eggs, he said, “The fuck do you see in this ugly whiny bitch?”

            Eggs, subdued, said, “I think he’s... kinda right, Die.”

            Die did a double take, eyes wide and incredulous. He turned and marched towards the room, slamming the glass door behind him. Clover scratched his head.

            “Uhh, I better go... check the... see if... uh, stuff,” he said, following Die inside.

            “Fucking hell,” Itchy muttered. Eggs held his chest, his throat closing and heart sinking like a rock. _Aw... shit_.

            Sheepishly, Eggs turned and said, voice cracking, “Itchy... you okay?”

            “Don’t fret over me, _Mr. Sensitive_ ,” Itchy said. “I’ve had my ass beaten a hell of a lot worse than what that skinny fuck can dish out. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. Teach him how to not fight like a little bitch sometime.”

            Despite his words, Itchy clearly bore immense pain. He found a cleaning cloth on the bar and held it to his forehead, then began picking glass from his skin, cringing with each pull.

            “Don’t you, like... I dunno, get tired of getting your ass kicked all the time?”

            Itchy guffawed. “You know, I think Crowbar said that exact thing to me a few times? You were probably there once. Ha. I don’t know. I guess I’m a bit of a masochist.”

            Eggs shook his head. “You know he’s, um, actually killed people, right? Like, a bunch of people, seriously. I think the _only_ reason he didn’t shoot you is ‘cause he was out of ammo. He’s... he’s been really worked up lately.”

            Itchy sighed. “Because of me, right? ‘Course it’s because of me. Christ.”

            Eggs cocked his head. “Wait. You... feel bad about it?”

            “Oh gee, sorry for having feelings. I’m sorry I broke that cool illusion I had going for a while there. Did I blow your mind?”

“No,” Eggs said. “It’s just, you’re not helping things by being so... such a... a dick! You don’t _sound_ like you’re sorry most of the time. Are you seriously sorry?”

            “I don’t know!” Itchy threw up his hands. “All I wanted was an apology, okay? A simple little apology. And it blew up into... this... bullshit. I don’t fucking know. I apologized to him. Where’s mine?” He muttered, “what a bag of dicks.”

            “I said already,” Eggs said, “he doesn’t think you sound like you mean it!”

            “He needs to grow the fuck up,” Itchy snapped. He hung his head. “He’s so... fucked up! I don’t know. Just tell him I’m... sorry. Again. I don’t know. If he does manage to kill me, good for him, I hope he feels a lot fucking better. But... I’m sorry. I don’t know why the fuck I’m apologizing to him _again_ but I am. Okay? So fucked up. Yes, I mean it.”

            “Why’re you telling me? You should say that stuff to Die. I’m not... uh, Die.”

            “Weren’t you paying attention, dumbass?” Itchy said. “He won’t fucking listen to me!”

            “And you won’t stop taunting him!”

            “Okay, okay,” Itchy said, one hand up in defense. “Mistakes are being made on both sides... mostly his though.”

            “Sure, okay, yeah,” Eggs said, unwilling to pursue this line of discussion much further. “Would it make you feel better if uh. I at least thanked you for taking care of the cops? ‘Cause that was pretty cool of you.”

            “I was in the neighborhood,” Itchy said. “Besides, I fucking hate cops. You know that vigilante’s on my ass, even here? I bet he’s gonna go after you dumbasses soon, too, now that you’re on the radar. Watch yourselves.”

            “You’re gonna keep an eye on us too, right?”

            “The fuck makes you think I’m gonna do that?” Itchy said defensively.

            “Well... you did come find us to warn us,” Eggs said. “And you called us your pals.”

            Itchy stood straight up. Placing his fingers in his mouth, he let out a piercing whistle, summoning Krathoid from wherever she hid.

            “Whatever. Yeah, I’m out,” Itchy said. “Go talk to your boyfriend. I bet he’s pretty butthurt over...” Itchy leaned to the side, and Eggs turned and saw Die standing there, the doors slightly ajar. When he realized they were looking at him, Die retreated, shutting the curtains. “...there,” Itchy said. He mounted Krathoid. “Later.” And with that, he took off.

            When Eggs returned inside, the first thing Die said was a quiet, “I heard him.”

            Eggs said, “Are you still gonna kill him?”

            Die groaned and fell backwards onto the bed, hiding his face in his hands. Eggs reached out, but Clover tugged at his pantleg and shook his head.

            “We’ll be in the living room, okay?” Clover said. “C’mon, Eggs.”

 

            Clover beckoned Eggs to the couch, climbing up and patting the seat next to him. Eggs collapsed into it and slumped over as if every muscle in his body had simultaneously decided to quit.

            “Hey, hey, it’s not you,” Clover said, rubbing Eggs’ back. “He’s just... hey.”

            “...What?” Eggs said, glancing up to meet his gaze. Clover pointed across the room.

            “Was that window open before?”

            “W... what? I don’t-”

            “Room service!”

            Eggs shot up, twisted his body to look behind the couch and found himself abruptly face-to-face with AR, covered in flexible black armor decorated with caution tape. Mounted on his back was a shotgun, and more weapons were holstered around his waist. Eggs gaped at _their_ AR, _Vigil_ , though this did not entirely register in his head at the moment. Clover scuttled up the couch’s back.

            AR cracked his knuckles. “I apologize: we’re all out of the beef wellington. I hope _justice_ will suffice.”

            “Wow, room service sucks around here,” Clover said. “We’re gonna have to dock a star off the review.”

            “That’s alright,” AR said. “There will be plenty of stars regardless!”

            “Guys!” Eggs cried. “A... AR.”

AR tilted his head. “Do I know you?”

“We teamed up once!” Eggs said. “We fought the Midnight Crew together and they caught you and made you scoop up dinosaur poop and... wait. Oh.You’re not... this isn’t making any sense to you, is it,” he said, his shoulders sinking. “Nevermind.”

AR shook his head. “I know of your kind, your... powers. Time travel. Sounds like quite an adventure. But, this is another time, another place. Perhaps we were allies there. Here and now, though, it just cannot be.”

            “Why not?” Eggs said. “I liked you.”

            “You ran several red lights,” AR said. “Also, over someone.”

            “Not on purpose!” Eggs said. “Seriously, why don’t you uh, hang out? We can totally be friends.”

            “Will you quit your life of crime and give up peacefully?” AR said, arcing an eyebrow.

            “Uh... no.”

            “Diiiidn’t think so,” AR said. He caught Eggs by surprise, landing an unexpectedly hard punch right on his nose. The impact hammered him into the glass table, smashing it in two. AR vaulted over the couch and landed on Eggs’ chest, then began unspooling a roll of tape.

            “Holy crap, Eggsy! Fight back!” Clover shouted. “I don’t know krav maga yet!”

            “You are under arrest!” AR shouted, pinning Eggs down via foot to the throat. “All of you!”

            “H-hey,” Eggs said. “Cut it out!” He shoved AR off and rolled to the side. “I don’t wanna hurt you too badly!”

            AR glared. “Your friends seem to feel differently.”

            Clover stood by with a decorative vase, held like a baseball bat. Die hovered at the bedroom door, for how long-- no idea, but his revolvers were pointed right at AR, a bluff.

            AR whipped out his shotgun, its barrel meeting Die’s eyes. Instantly, he froze up. In this moment of hesitation, AR bounded over the couch and flew at Die in a flash. Panicked, Die attempted to fire. AR swiftly reholstered his shotgun and disarmed Die, disassembling his guns and shoving the confused man to the ground. With more caution tape, AR tied Die’s hands behind his back, his struggling slowing AR down none. He settled for spitting in AR’s face.

            Eggs’ attempt to get him off of Die ended with Eggs on the floor next to his friend, thanks to AR sweeping his leg and tripping him. A vase fell and chipped near his face before he moved to bind Eggs’ arms.

            “Hey, hey Vigil!” Clover shouted. “I broke hotel property and don’t intend to pay for it! What are you gonna do about it, superzero?”

            AR, tape stretched between his fingers, bound Eggs’ hands quickly then went after Clover. He taunted and kited him away, threatening next to light the curtains on fire. Meanwhile, Eggs grunted and wrested his hands, freeing himself with some difficulty, and reddened wrists. He turned to work on Die, struggling with the tightly bound caution tape, attempting to break it without hurting him. He could not get his fingers under.

            “Th-there’s a pocket knife in my, in... my pants pocket, there, there! Get --that’s not the knife!”

            “Sorry, uh-- oh, here... how do I open this thing?”

            “J-just pull the fucking blade out!”

            “It’s-- my... my fingers are too big.”

            “Then use your teeth!”

            “Mrghhmm... okay, got it!”

            “Clove’!” Die said as he tore free from the freshly cut tape, digging his doll out from his coat. “Come here!”

            Clover dived between AR’s legs and joined the others on the floor. Smashing his mouth against Clover’s face, Die jammed a pin in the doll.

 

    AR stood by with disappointment on his face. “Damn,” he said under his breath. A distant scream barred him from shutting off the lights, taking a seat and dramatically awaiting their return. Hanging partway out the open window, he scanned the streets to spot a crime in progress. He pulled himself up, perching on the sill like a bird. “Next time,” he said, climbing out.

 

            Later in the evening, the three Felts popped back into the home timeline, making certain that the room held no surprises this time. Eggs locked the windows, the door, shut the curtains, dimmed the lights. Housekeeping had been through the massive mess they made, leaving an aggressive-sounding note and bill on the new table.

            “As if we’re paying that,” Clover scoffed. “...Toll booth? You broke a toll booth _when_?”

            “When I was parking... wait, they know _I_ did that?” Eggs said.

            Clover skipped into the kitchen and began frisking the cabinets and minifridge. “I’m starving. You guys hungry? I’m gonna cook somethin’ up. _Room service_ obviously can’t be trusted, hehe.”

            Crouched over the disassembled pieces of his revolvers, Die gathered the pieces up. He placed them into his suit jacket, then removed it and tossed it over a chair before entering the bedroom. Eggs internally debated whether or not he should talk to him now.

 

            It had been a tad awkward, those past few hours in the other timeline. Nothing unexpectedly horrible had happened, despite Die smooshing Clover’s glasses against his face, instead of kissing Clover himself. They hit a normal enough timeline anyway.

Die had gone off on his own as soon as they were safe, curtly telling them they should rendezvous later. Clover had gently persuaded Eggs to let him continue to cool off on his own.

            _“C’mon, Eggsy. How ‘bout we go do some prank calls or something?”_

_Eggs watched Die disappear down the ally, turning a corner. He had kicked over the dead body on his way out._

_“He’s... really pissed, huh?” Eggs’ shoulders drooped. “I don’t know what I shoulda done. I... I felt bad for Itchy but Die’s my... he’s....”_

_Clover tugged at Eggs. “Hey, if we’re gonna have a heart to heart or something, I’ll listen but can we do it somewhere less gross?”_

_Around the other corner sat an outdoor cafe, purple umbrellas topping every table, artificial plants lining the low metal fencing. Eggs and Clover picked out the table in the corner._

_Eggs had a difficult time keeping his eyes dry; he slouched over and hid his face in his arms. Clover sat atop the table, running his hand over Eggs’ shoulder, occasionally humming. Eggs lifted that arm and pulled Clover in close._ _His voice became somewhat hypnotic to Eggs. It calmed him down some._

_When Die showed up, passing through the patio gate and shly approaching them, Eggs and Clover watched but remained silent. Neither of them could read his expression, blank-faced as the doll he fidgeted with. Once face to face, Die offered them his hand._

 

            Die still had not said a single word to either of them, but he did not seem agitated. He left the door ajar as he entered the bedroom. Head poking through the gap, Eggs nervously broke the silence.

            “Did... um... did you want to be alone some more? Cause... um, I can go help Clove’.”

            “It’s okay. You can come in,” Die said, falling halfway onto the bed, legs supporting him from the floor. Eggs situated himself next to those legs, back against the bed’s edge.

            “Are... you still mad at me?” he said. “I can’t tell.”

            “No,” Die sighed. “I-I _was_ but... it’s... okay.  You were right. He was right. I’m an ugly, petty asshole. I... fucking hate that he was right. No, no I’m not mad at you. Just him... and me... and... not you. I, fuck... I’m a stupid asshole. It’s not only about that bullshit with Itchy, its... I pissed off the cops somehow because I’m fucking stupid and damn I’m... rambling.

“...Why aren’t _you_ mad at _me_?”

            “‘Cause,” Eggs said, twiddling his fingers, “because, um. I... love you. Lots.” He gulped and hurriedly continued. “A-and I’m not gonna stay mad at you, even if I was, but I wasn’t! ‘Sides, I’m in trouble, too, um, on my own. The cop said Die _and_ Eggs.”

            “Why?”

            “I dunno, ‘cause I stole a motorcycle and helped in that heist the other day and- ?”

            “No, no,” Die said, “Why the hell do you love me?”

Eggs clutched his legs to his chest and muttered, “You, you make it um... sound like a bad thing. Like, I dunno, maybe I’m stupid for liking you at all. More stupid than usual.”

            Die sat up. “Th-that’s not... shit.”

            Eggs’ abrupt, irritated fierceness took Die aback. “I guess I’m always gonna be a dumbass, huh? No matter what happens or what I try or whatever time... bullshit, I don’t know. See? I don’t know. ‘Cause I’m stupid! And....”

            Die hopped off the bed and attempted to interrupt Eggs’ tirade several times.

            “I, goddamnit,” Die said. “Damn it, sh-shut up for a fucking minute!”

            Eggs squeezed his legs closer and stared at the floor, hiding his reddened, grimacing face.

            “Okay,” he said. “I’ll shut up. I should just not talk anymore. Everything I say is dumb.”

            Die pinched his forehead, exhaling deeply, letting out a short string of curses before continuing.

 “No, no, don’t... fucking, I, just, wanted to say... I really... I hate myself. And... I don’t see any reason why... anyone else... wouldn’t. Itchy... he gets it. Sees me for me and rubs it in my face and it... pisses me off. S-sorry, I’m not helping, shit. It’s... do _you_ like yourself, Eggs?”

            Eggs made a sudden choking sound, his eyes watering again. He wanted so badly to shrink away, the way his heart shrunk in his chest now. “N... n... not really.”

            Die cursed again. “Damn it... I’m, I’m... everything’s coming out wrong. Shit. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I... fuck... damn it. You’re not stupid. I adore you, Eggs. I like talking to you, y-you, make me smile, laugh-- you make me happy. And... you seem to like me a lot, too. Or you did, before just now. Maybe... that’s enough. For now. Except... I may have just fucked everything up.”

            Eggs blinked rapidly, trying to clear his eyes. Timidly, he lifted his chin, and found that Die’s face had become as wet as his own.

            “We’re fuckups, aren’t we,” Eggs said.

            “Yeah,” Die said. “More me than you, but... yes. But... but I suppose the same could be said of most of The Felt.”

            “Die, um,” Eggs said. “I love you because... because. I do. I don’t know. I like you. You’re really smart and... um.” Die gave him an expectant look. Eggs sniffled and bit his lip. Transferring his thoughts to words was an exceedingly tough, distressing exercise. “Biscuit had to threaten to kick your ass to get me in the door, but um, when I was in... you listened and helped out, and only Quarts ever really did that before. And um... you sorta also... saved my life. A lot.”

            “I... never saved your life,” Die said, cocking his head.  “You were the one who,” his eyes widened with realization, “oh. Your... your clones? I... hm. I never... thought of it like that.”

            “Yeah. I really think they’re in there,”  Eggs said, body loosening up. He wiped his face with his sleeve. “Ever since that whole thing with the really bad timeline that we sorta went and screwed over... I think I felt them all. It was one weird, like, one time... thingy, but it _had_ to be them. And, that... other me that I was supposed to go into, well... he’s sorta here with me too, I guess... ‘cause of you.”

            A corner of Die’s mouth lifted. “Figuring out how to merge really... really isn’t that complicated. You would have figured it out eventually.”

            “Oh yeah, like I would’ve _eventually_ figured out that other thing my timer does,” Eggs said. “Which... I keep forgetting is a thing we can do that prolly could’ve been helpful earlier.” Eggs groaned, hung his head and shook it. A sardonic chuckle escaped his lips. “See? Fuckup.”

Die joined in on the grim laughter. “Sometimes... I wonder if you never actually got _smarter_ , just... well, something... else.”

            “You’re prolly right,” Eggs said, only partly joking. “Wonder what.”

            Die shifted his weight, scratched his arm. “I’m... sorry, again. I... don’t know. I feel like shit but....”

            “It’s okay.” Eggs said. “I love you.”

            “...Love you, too.” Die joined Eggs on the floor, awkwardly locking him into his arms. Tightly returning the embrace, Eggs sought Die’s cheek and lips. He softly reciprocated.

“Then again,” Die said, breaking for breath, “I suppose Clover and I forgot, too. You don’t use your timer enough anymore.”

“Yeah. Well... it’s done now, so... whatever.” They touched their foreheads together, resting a moment. “Can... um, can I tell you something? It’s kinda... embarrassing.”

            “You don’t have to say anything; I can feel it.”

            “N-not that. Related though.” Eggs said, “um... like, it’s embarrassing when other people call us... _boyfriends_ , but, um, I really like it too. A lot... maybe that’s what makes it so-- um, anyway, nothing has to change but, would it be okay if... we started... calling this... that? Not that we’re actually, it’s... y’know... a name for... things.”

            Die kissed Eggs’ cheek. “I’d... I’d like that.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes. Really,” he said. “B... boyfriend.”

            Eggs giggled. “Okay... boyfriend. Heh... hehe.” He could not see it, but Die smiled harder than Eggs was.

           

When Eggs quit the bedroom, tidying and smoothing over his clothes, Clover darted out from behind the door.

            “I wasn’t eavesdropping or anything! Guess it wouldn’t be that hard, could hear you from the... But... uh, so, you guys... you’re okay now, right?” Clover waved his hands. “Not that I was listening in, mind you! Lucky guess? Wait, I mean-”

            Smoke billowed out from the kitchenette, to which Eggs raised a highly concerned eyebrow.

            “Is it supposed to be doing that?” he said.

            “Oh shit!” Clover said, dashing to the other side of the room. “Oh no, don’t help or anything,” he sarcastically added.

 

            After Die emerged, after they all partook in Clover and Eggs’ interesting culinary concoction, the three Felts found plenty to occupy themselves with throughout the day. A furniture fort erected, karaoke machine stolen, alcohol consumed. Die’s lovely singing voice surprised Eggs, and Clover to some extent.  Eggs sung as well, despite protests. Clover told him that he “ _wasn’t awful_ ” and he deemed that encouragement enough.

            Later they sat secure under the fort, its sides draped in thick blankets like a tent, floor littered with empty bottles and crumbs.

            Eggs, swaying as he chugged down another half a bottle, said, “Th... that policewoman that was after us... she was like... kinda cute. Think I could get her uhh... in... like, bed? It’d totally be one of those sexy... things... with the... when. You know. Bad guy flirting.”

            Clover laughed. “Even if she weren’t an officer, how many girls have you laid _without_ money getting involved, Eggsy? Be realistic here.”

            “Shut up Clove’. Girls tell me I’m cute like... uh... all the time. Really!”

            “What girls? Strippers?”

            “They’re... only strippers sometimes,” Eggs said. He gulped hard.

            “Eggsy-- Eggs,” Die said, “Please... if you’re about to, to... upchuck. Don’t do it in here. I’m serious. No more paper towels.”

            “I’m not gonna,” Eggs said. “I’m... uh... uh... I’m... good. And attractive. I’m pretty sure.”

            Clover giggled. “Alrighty, Eggs. You do have a cute face. I’ll give you that. Look at those dimples, aww.”

            If Eggs were not already blushing, he would do so now. Die covered his mouth, muffling a chuckle.

“And Die!” Clover said, “Now, you... you got a super cute smile.” Clover adjusted his glasses and touched his face. “And... I got...um.” Die leaned over and hugged Clover, and Eggs came forward to gather them both up in one big embrace. Clover laughed and put his arms around them both.

“I’m seriously really glad it’s only us here,” Eggs said.

“Ha! Yeah,” Clover said. “You two look like the least badass gangsters in the history of gangsters right about now. Hey... guys.” Clover shifted and took off his hat to draw out a baggie. Eggs leaned in, eyeing it curiously.

“What’s... ?”

“Heheh. I had this on me all day,” Clover said in singsong. “If the cops actually caught us-- we were already in trouble but this would just be icing for them, huh? Let’s, y’know... get rid of it.” He winked.

“...What?” Eggs said.

Die said, “Eggs, we’re hotboxing the fort.”

 

_Cough, cough_

 

“Guys, uh, I heard, uh... that, if you like, play that song backwards... you’ll hear a voice telling you to start a riot.”

“That song’s already backwards and it says that when it’s played _forwards_. I know, ‘cause... ‘cause I wrote it.”

“Oh. Oh... yeah.”

“Heehee... I think I catch it working sometimes.”

 

….

 

            “E-eggs... I need to... confess something.”

            “Die, we can already tell you’re touching yourself under that pizza box. Pretty obvious.”

            “No. Something else... um... vaguely... related.”

            “You can so tell me, uh... anything, guys! We’re pals like, for... uh... what’s that word that means forever. Wait....”

            “I... I let Biscuits fuck me once. Just us. A-and... he was better than you.”

            “...WHAT.”

            “Pffhahaha!”

….

 

            “You stand behind me while I stand behind you. How are we placed in such a queue?”

            “Uh... mmm... oh! Oh my god, Clover!” Eggs laughed. “I know this one! I-- I actually... heheh. I _clone myself_!”

            “Wha-- shit, no, that’s cheating!”

            “It _works_. Um... l-let... let him have his... moment. Heh.”

            Clover rubbed his eyes. “Okay, f-fine, moving on! There was a man who ate a shoe. He was dumb and so are you! Gimme some of your popcorn.”

            “H... hey, wait. That’s not a riddle. That’s just mean! I ain’t givin’ you my food!”

 

….

 

 

            “Mmhhh. W... wait. If we’re going to... um. We need... lube.”

            “Oh. Yeah. Clove’? Uh, can you like, get us like, a bunch of those uh,” Eggs pinched his thumb and forefinger together, “really... really tiny lotions? Heh.” He said, “Better than me... I’ll show you.”

            “Please do,” Die smiled, guiding Eggs’ hands under his pants. “Please, please... Y-you’re... welcome to help out, Clove’....”

            “Hee, hehe, heh, I... um. Tempting....” Clover blushed. Die reached for Clover’s cheek, brushing his knuckles against his face. Inching forward on his knees, Clover removed his glasses and touched their lips together. Die flicked his tongue against the other’s mouth, gently coaxing it open. Eggs tentatively touched Clover as well, tracing a finger down his back, then running his thumb up his stomach. He pressed above the Y of Clover’s legs, causing him to pause and shift his glance towards Eggs. He noticed, clearly, but made no effort to resist. Clover made a low sound when Eggs moved his thumb down between those petite legs and started rubbing, a smile spreading over his face as he felt Clover. He started swirling his thumb in tight circles, slowly, carefully.

            “Ohh. So you’re... d-does... does that feel good, Clove’? Am I hurtin’ you?”

            “N-no,” Clover said into Die’s mouth, “it feels g... mmm.”

            Clover disengaged, and so did the other two. Reddened, sweating, flustered, laughing. Clover stepped aside and said, “I’m, I’m gonna, heh, get you guys those lotions... and... tacos. You guys want tacos? I feel like tacos. Just... gimme a minute. Heh.. heheh. Wow. Shit. Yeah,” he poked half his body outside the fort, “Don’t... heh... don’t do anything ‘til I get back,” he shyly said.

            “Clove’,” Die said, dreamily. “You’re really beautiful.”

            Clover smiled at them before slipping out of the blanket doors and dashing to the bathroom, soon to return with their goodies.

            “Eggsy,” Die said, caressing the other’s cheek, “if it helps... um, you make a better boyfriend than Biscuits would.”

            Eggs nuzzled Die’s neck. “Yeah. I think it helps. But seriously... _Biscuits_?”

            “Um... I like his... _aggression_.” Die paused, then grinned wickedly. “I’m kind of taking a liking to your dad lately, too-”

            “-Okay, um, let’s stop talking please.”

 

….

            Eggs yawned and stretched in place, accidentally shoving pieces of fort and disturbing Die and Clover beside him. With the shifting blanket came a sliver of light. Taco bits and golden carpet fuzz stuck to them like glitter.

            Clover achieved full awakening first. Crumbs that lined his face like a beard were carelessly brushed off onto the other two.

            “Holy crap,” Clover said, rubbing his eyes. “Last night was... heh, fun, huh? Oh man. I don’t think I ever needed a shower more in my whole life.” Bouncing out of the makeshift bed and fort, he skipped into the bathroom. Over the pounding of water on the shower floor, Clover said, “We should go to the restaurant on the top floor! They serve these awesome omelette... hey, Eggsy? Do you eat egg-eggs, or is that too weird?”

            Eggs yawned again. “Wow... Die, is Clover always this, uh, _awake_ right outta bed?”

            “Mmhm,” Die hummed, still curled up in the blanket nest.

 

            They left that room in a state of disaster, much of which they did not remember causing. Clover assured them that he would have the situation taken care of. In a half-assed effort, Eggs at least reset the furniture and draped a blanket over the messy floor like a rug.

 

            With open walls and only a short guardrail as a safeguard, the top floor restaurant granted an excellent view of the city, much better than that from the balcony. From the ceiling hung many lights, and a grand chandelier in the center. Attendance and ambient chatter was light when they entered.

            “S... _sirs_ ,” the Prospitan waiter said, voice dripping with disdain, “you’re a... tad late for breakfast.”

            “So?” Clover said. He pushed up those glasses and leaned forward, batting those wide eyes at him.

            “Yeah, that’s not gonna work on me,” the waiter said. “It’s two in the afternoon. I could get you a sandwich or-”

            “Don’t tell _us_ what time it is,” Clover said. He pointed at Eggs. “Don’t tell _this guy_ he can’t have breakfast. Do you know who he is?” Clover nudged Eggs’ side, and he immediately took on a threatening grimace. “And look at this guy!” Clover said, touching Die’s shoulder. “He’s _crazy_. Right, _Die_?” Die gave Clover a quick glance before making a low, half-assed growl at the waiter. “Trust me on this, he’ll make it clear where he got his name if you get on his bad side!”

            The waiter said, “He’ll... play dead? Look, I don’t know what you’re threatening _me_ for. Do I look like a goddamn chef to you?” Under his breath he added, “Bunch of shrek-ass motherfuckers....”

            “Tsk,” Clover said. “I ought to talk to your manager about your _hurtful_ language. Never heard that one before though, that’s kinda funny!”

            “Ha ha,” the waiter said. “Piss off, four-eyes.”

Clover jumped down from the seat. “I will, thanks! I’ll be right back. Kitchen’s this way, right?”

            To Die, Eggs said, “Nice to see Clove’ going around doing Clover stuff again. Is that really ‘cause of the glasses? Shouldn’tve thrown mine away.”

            “Mm. She is cute in them. Um. Moreso.”

            “Wait, are we calling Clover _she_ now? I didn’t get the memo.”

            “...Eh.”

            The waiter tapped his foot impatiently. “I don’t suppose you _gentlemen_ plan on leaving me a tip.”

           

            Soon, Eggs had his pancakes, and Clover his giant omelette, while Die lightly picked at both of their meals like a bird. Clover took a flask from his jacket and leaned over the table.

            “Want me to Irish up your coffees a bit?” As he added creamer, he said, ”See, told you those coppers were worthless. You _ran over a guy_ and we’re still sitting here.” He took a swig straight from the flask. “Gotta work on that driving, by the way. Want me to take us home? Eggsy, lemme tell you,” he gripped a pair of invisible handlebars, “I’ve honestly been itching to try riding your hog for myself! Uh... no innuendo intended, heh.”

            “...How?” Die said over Eggs’ snickering. “How are you going to... I mean, at least... with the car you have that mop, but... nevermind.”

            “I hope everything’s okay back home,” Eggs said, stabbing his plate with his fork. “Then again, there’s Quarts and Snowy and Cans and... yeah I guess you’re right. They’ll be fine.”

            “Even if the cops and Vigil team up,” Clover said, “Yep, think we’re good!”

           

            _“They’re in the restaurant now. Yeppers. The big one and the teeny one are having a breadstick sword fight.”_

_A Prospitan man, dressed in white, spun circles in his swivel chair, surrounded by surveillance videos overseeing nearly all corners of the Oasis. Each hall, each room. Holding a phone to his ear, the carapace nodded and gave curt answers to the one on the other end, occasionally interrupting with an interesting observation._

_“The skinny one’s eating the jelly out of the little jelly jars with his finger. Gross. Oh. Yeah, yeah... I’m writing it down,” he lied. “Alrighty. Will let you know.” He gave himself one big push and twirled in a rapid circle, giggling childishly before realising he was still on the line. He fumbled the phone and ended the call._

At some point, a carapace family, two parents and a child, entered the restaurant. They settled in a couple of tables away from the Felts’, near one of the open walls. Eggs found himself staring, despite the family doing nothing of actual interest-- going over the menu, reprimanding the child for spitting over the edge of the guardrail....

“Wish I had one of those when I was a kid,” Eggs murmured.

“A carakid?” Clover said.

“No! The-- you know. Parents.”

Die said, “ _Carakid_? Is... that what they call... ?”

Clover raised his palms. “I dunno. Wanna try and coin the term with me? This reminds me, though. Eggsy loves to tell stories about how he and Biscuits were lonely, lonely orphans-”

“-What? I don’t talk about it _that_ much-”

“-But, Die, you still never told us a whole lot about your childhood.” Clover leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, batting his eyes. “Would you like to share with the rest of the class?”

Die leaned back in his seat, quiet for a long moment. Finally, he said, “It sucked.”

Eggs shrugged. “I guess if we had good parents, or... any at all, we might not be uh... gangsters. Right? I think Snowy said something like that to me one time. I wouldn’t know how to do things legit even if I wanted, anyway. It looks too hard.”    

Clover snorted. “I guess I’m just a freak, huh? I had great, upstanding parents and I turned out absolutely nothing like them. They were always like, _quit scamming those kids out of their allowance!,_ or _don’t shoot roman candles at strangers_ , or _stop laughing and have some respect! This is a funeral!_ But they were also there to tuck me in at night, and defend me when other people wouldn’t stop asking why I haven’t grown an inch since I was little and... yeah.” Clover’s smile faded. “When they weren’t yelling their asses off at me, they were nice.”

Eggs said, “So... you were orphaned too?” Clover shook his head.

“Actually!” Clover said, “Mom was accidentally framed for a murder and sent to prison. That was uh... kind of... all my fault. Long story, heh. Not my proudest moment. Dad got kidnapped. Memory kinda gets blurred here, but the next things I remember involve ending up with all you bozos. So... um... maybe! Maybe not. No way of knowing now. But I _prefer_ to think they’re not dead.”

“Hmph,” Die said, jabbing the table with his fork. “I’m... I-I’m glad at least one of us knows what a... _normal_ childhood’s like.”

“More or less.” Clover added. “I... think. The weird luckiness might’ve skewed things a bit, but whatever. Doesn’t matter! We have a new family now, right?” He took his drink and raised it. “Eggs has his dad and reluctant uncles, me and Die got you and Biscuits I guess, so _we_ have your new dad and uncles by proxy. I guess that makes your comments, _Die_ , about wanting Quarters and Crowbar to team up and-- what’d you say last night? _Ruin your asshole_ -?”

“Um.... m-might have been... something like... d-do you have to say it so loudly?” Laughter spilled from between Eggs’ fingers, plastered to his mouth.

 “Heh, sorry!” Clover said, glass still raised. “I don’t think anyone’s paying attention, if it helps. Oh. And there’s those other Felt guys with varying relevance to our adventures. To awesome new families!”

_Clink!_

Die took one sip of his water, then slowly, he added, “A very... open... kinky, sexy family, apparently.”

 

            The three of them quit the restaurant, gathering in the spacious glass elevator. Clover sang, making up rhyming, nonsense lyrics to the otherwise unremarkable elevator music. Eggs joined in, even Die ad libbed a bit. When the lift came to a stop partway down, Eggs and Die immediately clammed up. Eggs made room for the Prospitan in black that joined them.

            Tipping his hat, the carapace greeted them. “Clover. Die. Eggs.”

            “Uh,” Eggs said, “Tuxedo guy,” he said, tipping his own hat. Clover’s singing became low humming and scatting.

            The carapace nodded, “There’s something we gotta discuss outside, in private. I have a van ready.”

            “What? Why?” Eggs said, now defensive and nervous. Clover silenced himself completely. “Who even are you? Are you a cop? Don’t you have to say if you’re a cop?”

            “Ehh, doesn’t matter who I am,” the man said. “A friend. Also, no, they don’t have to say. That’s stupid... not that I’m calling you stupid, of course, haha... ha.”

            _Ding_. The golden doors glided apart, now safely at the bottom. The man’s face fell as the three of them quickly made their way out.

            “H-hey! At least hear me out.”

            Die said, “We have enough friends.”

            The man followed closely behind, practically begging them to stop and listen.

            “These are important matters!” the carapace said. He dashed around and ahead of them, swiftly stepping backwards before the three. “Eggs-- Eggs, your father. Brother. Your family is in trouble here. You could go home unprepared, or....”

            Eggs stopped. Though he was previously sure his home would be fine, doubts crept up from the bottom of his chest, lodging into his throat.

“W-what about them?”

             The carapace threw up his hands, turning his back. “Oh, well, I can’t tell you all the details out here,” he turned his head and whispered, a hand cupped against his cheek, “People are listening. They’re _always_ listening around here.”

            “Well,” Clover hugged his chest and said, “that’s an unsettling thing to know, thanks.”

            Die, after shooting Clover a disconcerted glance, said, “What’s in this for you?”

            “Honestly?” the man said, “I was an old friend of your dad’s, Eggs.”

            Eggs tapped his chin. “He’s... never mentioned a tuxedo carapace guy before.”

            “Welll,” the man said, “we’ve drifted apart a bit as of late, but still, that’s my buddy! I can’t do much to help him out myself, but I know _you three_ can. Brains, brawn, lucky charm... all I have is a wooden leg.”

            “Cool!” Clover said. “Can I see?”

             “No, no,” the man said. “Some teenagers carved a heart into it while I was sleeping once, it’s really embarrassing.” He pointed at a windowless black van. “Here we are. There’s candy in the back, if you need extra incentive.”

            Die whispered to Eggs. “Let’s go home ourselves.”

            “With the cops still after you?” the man said.

            “ _Still_?” Clover said.

             “Yes, still.” he said, in time for a police siren to scream out from the distance. The three Felts jumped and ducked behind a pillar as the squadcar passed.

            “Maybe it was after somebody else,” Eggs said, peeking out from behind the structure.

            The man opened the door to the van. “Wanna risk it? I know you can get away, but it’s still a pain in the ass, right? C’mon,” he said. “For your dad? My buddy? You’ve got luck on your side. There’s nothing to lose. See for yourself.” He opened the van door, “No traps or nothing!”

            Eggs, Die and Clover huddled up together.

            Clover spread his hands. “If somehow, luck fails or he manages to have some of that red shit hidden away, maybe you’ll finally get a chance to use that Uzi of yours, Eggsy. Get on track to beating Die’s high score.”

            Die arced an eyebrow. “You’re... keeping _score_ on my murder count?”

            “Eh.” Eggs said. “Why not. Free candy!”

            Die checked the insides, standing safely outside the door. Its insides were plain, carpeted, dirty. Die took a stick and flipped open the grungy backpack in the corner, which indeed contained plentiful sweets. “It looks okay,” he said reluctantly.

 

            “Okay, comfy back there?”

            “Can you tell us what’s up now?” Eggs said, shoulders hunched in order to fit vertically. Die sat against him, and Clover in his lap, hoarding chocolates.

            “Notttt yett. Sit tight.”

            Die slipped his fingers into Eggs’ coat without saying a word, to Eggs’ confusion. With his Uzi in Die’s hands, he promptly hauled it up to the driver’s head.

            “Whoa! H-hey, fuckin’, easy there! I’m not even armed!”

            “Just do what I say,” Die said, “Start driving us home. Give us the info.”

            With shaking hands, the man started the machine, heading in the manor’s direction.

            “That’s what I was-- is that a fucking-- why are you pointing a machine gun at me? Oh my god! Where did you even get that?”

            “Making sure you stay an honest man.”

            “Cocksuckinfuckinsonofa... okay! Just! Give me a sec to gather my thoughts! Holy shit.”

            Eggs, satisfied with the situation, turned his attention elsewhere: “Clove’, quit bogarting the candy.”

            “Okay,” Clover giggled, “but only if you answer a riddle without cheating.”

            “Aw, come on. That wasn’t cheating, you said _you_ and _me_. Me as in _me_. And I can clone me!”

            “Clover, just give him some,” Die said.

            “No-- it’s-- it’s not _literally_ you and me.”

            “Cut it out back there!” the man said with a jittery voice. “Don’t make me turn this van around... uh... right into the police. Uh oh.”

            Bemused, Clover said, “ _Uh oh_ , as in... uh oh, I forgot the Milky Ways? ‘Cause I don’t see any in here.”

            Die cursed. Eggs squinted at the right side mirror, spotting the reflection of strobing red and blue lights.

“ _Uh oh_ as in,” the man said, “Uh oh, I forgot about all those warrants out for my arrest. Sweets dealer... ehehe. Sometimes drugs too. Also I brained a hooker. _Allegedly_.”

He floored it. The inertia slammed the SMG into Die’s nose, leaving a bloody gash across his face and spilling strings of red. In the same instant, Die himself flew into the van’s back with a metallic _THUD_ , the sound seemingly cuing a cacophony of police sirens. Eggs and Clover both cried out for Die.

“I-I’m okay!” He dropped the Uzi and stared at the gore on his hands, his coat, the carpet. “It’s... it’s worse than it looks, I... hope.”

“Shit shit shit tittyshiiiiiiit!” _BANG_ “ASSBALLS!”

            “Are they ramming us?” Clover said in the midst of kissing the bruise forming where Die hit his head. “Fuck, yep, they’re ramm-ghgh!”

            Eggs struggled, only managing to scoot down in his seat a few inches.

            “I think I’m stuck.”

            Clover handed Die a handkerchief. “Gee, I think we’re all stuck anyway! Just gotta ride it out from here.”

            “Y-yeah, yeah!” the man said. “I got this, I’ll shake ‘em off! No need to point a goddamn gun at my head. I-I swear, I’ll talk after but-” he scraped the side of a truck with an ear-splitting screech, “-fuck! I-I gotta concentrate on driving. Sorry!”

            Whatever route the man took, four lane roads and big buildings fell away to slums Eggs did not recognize. He figured it best that they lead these persistent police away from the house. Eggs lay one arm on Die’s shoulders, stabilizing him and Clover in the barrage of bumps and attacks and swerves.

            “Fuck,” Die said, turning the handkerchief over, “it won’t stop bleeding. Fuck.”

            “It’s okay!” Clover said, holding Die’s free hand tightly. “I got you, remember? Stitch has a life too... the bastard.”

            When city structures began to thin out, when sands began to encroach and engulf the roads while attacks and sirens remained steady, Eggs and the others grew ever more concerned. No sane officers would continue such a chase, yet these unseen cars continued to follow dutifully like dogs, occasionally speeding up to strike the van’s back.

            Die said, voice low, hands still clutching his nose, “This... has gotten ridiculous. Neither of them are trying anymore.”

            “Then what’ll we do?” Eggs said. “Shoot tuxedo guy, push him out the door... uh... oh.”

            Die dropped the handkerchief to reach for the Uzi. The man, whom had been driving in a straight line for a period,  chose this moment to turn a tight corner. This time, _hard_. Eggs caught and cushioned Die as Clover clung tightly to Eggs’ coat. Next he looked up, the road was dirt, and the city had passed them by.

            “Tuxedo guy! Hey... hey!”

           

            Five minutes struggling through the desert biome, the man undid his seat belt, opened the door, and rolled out of the van on his own.

 

            _He dusted himself off, a wide, wicked smile on his face. The “_ squad cars _” , a plain vehicle with multiple sirens strapped to the roof, came to a sliding halt on the ridge above him. The partner leaned over the edge and helped the man climb up. A triumphant high-five was shared before they both hopped into the faux police car._

_“That should buy us some time!” The man said. “I mean, the Midnight Crew. Heh. Being a Hatchet is kinda kickass sometimes.”_

_“You sure we’re not gonna get in trouble for this?” the driver said. “The whole thing was kinda... I dunno,_ overt _?”_

_The man’s cell rang. Eyes wide, he fumbled with the phone and brought it to his ear._

_“Uhh... uh, hi?”_

_ <<TG, what the goddamn fuck did you just do?_>>

_The driver sunk in his seat. “Why did I even ask that. Of course we’re boned.”_

_“Look, look,”  TG quickly said, “It’s, uh--- we did it for our fallen friend!”_

_ <<So it _was _you then! >>_

_“No, I mean... yes, but-”_

_ <<You are fucking lucky as shit that the boss is too goddamn busy today to look into this shit and personally hand you your asses for this stunt, but trust me, _Blade is gonna be pissed _when she finds out_. _Revenge is well and good, but... but... oh my fucking god. Get to my fucking office. Goddamn petty ass- >>_

_“-H-hey! I might have eliminated the Felt for us!”_

_ <<We don’t WANT them eliminated right now! You do know who makes our uniforms, right?>>_

_“...But... they... they killed my-”_

_ <<SHUT UP. OFFICE. NOW.>>_

_Sheepishly, TG put the phone away._

_“L... let’s go,” he murmured to the driver._


	8. DEFECTED

Eggs clambered out from the wreckage of the van, its side now a gaping metal wound torn asunder by an uncomfortably close jag of rock. Die clung to Eggs’ arm as he exited, not too much worse off than before. Of course, Clover emerged completely unhurt. Even his glasses made it out without so much as a scuff. After reaching in for his Uzi, dusting it off and reholstering it, Eggs plopped down next to his friends against the ridge wall.

            “Uh, so,” he said, “we got duped, huh.”

            “Yep,” Clover said.

            “So we better get back home, huh.”

            “Yep.”

            A quick search of the crushed front seats turned up nothing of use or interest. The ridge they had crashed off held more steepness than height. Eggs helped Clover up first, simply lifting him over his head.

            “Hey, we’re not too far from the city,” Clover said. “Seems like about a, hmmm, 10, 15 minute walk though?”           

            “Through the sand,” Die added as he was boosted up to the edge, “and heat.” Clover took Die’s arms and assisted in hauling him up the rest of the way.

            “And... monsters,” Eggs said. “Uh... uh, are... are there monsters in this timeline? Like, uh, I dunno... antlions... giant spiders... Syndicate.” Head and hands raised over the edge, he exchanged quick glances with the other two and sighed.“‘Course there are.”

 

            Indeed, Midnight City could be seen on the horizon through the haze of technicolor sand, both in the wind and beneath their feet. There too sat the occasional ruin and rock, a few hardy, twisting trees and tough flowering brushes. Tiny particles danced in the periodic hot gusts, bringing back some bad memories as the sun burned above.

           Clover perched on Eggs’ shoulder as usual. The slog through the hot, rough sand was difficult and uncomfortable for Eggs, but manageable. Die had a tougher time of it, falling behind. Eggs paused and offered him his hand.

           “Want me to carry you, too?”

           “N-no,” Die shook his head. “That’s okay, thanks.”  He picked up his feet, attempting to stay as close to Eggs’ side as possible.

            “How did those original nomady guys put up with this crap?” Eggs said, wiping his brow.

            “Hey, I’d return the favor for all the times you let me piggyback,” Clover said, “but... well... size differences and all.”

            “It’s you,” Eggs said, “It’s okay. The desert’s stupid, though. Everything s...pth,” he spat. “Sand. In my mouth... I’m so thirsty.”

            Clover dug out his flask and offered it to him. “Here, take ye flask!”

            Eggs nearly spat it out, expecting water. He shivered deeply.

            “Hey, at least it’s wet,” Clover said. “Need a drink, Die?”

            “Clove’, alcohol is a _diuretic_ ,” Die said. Clover grimaced and pocketed it.

            Eggs and Die did their best to follow the stretches of solid dirt path, partially buried, and marred with fresh tire marks. These spots not eaten by the dunes were the closest they had to a break, until Die pointed out an oasis, not too far off course.

            “...The hotel?” Eggs said, squinting through the sand veil.

            “No, no, an actual-- a real oasis. Water source.”

            “I didn’t know that was a real thing!”

            Clover laughed. “Education time! Let’s go!”

            Thankfully not a hallucination, the oasis was a welcome sight, even such a small one. A couple of trees and tenacious grasses ringed the rocky bank. Chunks of broken ruins and tall rocks shielded against wind and provided spots of shade.

            Clover bent over the clear oasis water. “So how much dysentery and alien brain parasites do you think is in there?”

            Eggs already had gulped down several mouthfulls by the time Clover thought to raise concerns. He stopped and spat at the dirt repeatedly.

            “So, um, clear, clean water is bad _why_ now?” Eggs said, wiping his mouth.

            Die shrugged. “It could be fine, but... if nothing is drinking or living in it... there, um, there might be a reason for that.”

            “ _Awesome_ ,” Eggs sighed. Clover spread his arms.

            “You’l be fine!” he cackled. “The look on your face was hilarious, by the way.”

 

            No _monstrous_ encounters surprised them the rest of the way. Though, there were brief skirmishes with the cat-sized territorial sand sharks, brave things that leapt and warning-nipped at Die and Eggs, the latter whom could crush them with ease should he chose. A short time later, Clover was dive bombed by a flying reptile twice his size, and would have taken off with him had Eggs not clobbered it. Any other wildlife either ignored or avoided the travelers completely. Die continued to occasionally fall back, growing more and more exhausted yet still stubbornly refusing to be carried. Eggs took him by the arm, gently tugging him along. Die allowed at least that much, and soon enough, they reunited with the city limits.

             Shaking and brushing sand away, they located the nearest available vehicle: a pickup truck behind a nomad rest station. Eggs tested the door, opening it with ease.

            “What luck,” Clover laughed. “Unlocked with keys in the ignition. Gotta love it.”

            Die, his breathing labored now, said, “I suppose I’ll have to drive.”

            “No, no, I’ll handle it!” Clover said. “You rest. Please.”

            “Um, Clove’... I love you but, you’re... you’re not exactly the... best driver in the world.”

            “So, I’ll do it!” Eggs said. “I just checked the back. There’s nothin’ in there. So... there’s nothin’ for you to push the pedals.”

            “Big whoop,” Clover said, ushering Die into the passenger seat. “Go inside and steal a broom and thing of newspapers or something. And get chips. Maybe a-”

            “-No, uh... actually,” Eggs said, rubbing his hands, “What I _really_ wanted to say is... uh... screw it. I wanna drive!”

            “Is... is this _really_ the time to practice?” Die said.

            “What he said!”

            Eggs placed his hands to his chest. “Uh, guys? I got _luck_. And... driving a truck can’t be too different. Right?”

            Tapping a finger against his chin, Clover shrugged and conceded. He gave Eggs an extra smooch on the cheek.

            “Alright, I’ll teach you! Don’t worry Die, we got this. Just sit back and rest a bit!” Clover climbed up onto Eggs’ lap. “Okay, so, we don’t wanna get into more shit with the fuzz or superheros, so....”

            Die tensed up and buckled in.

 

            The truck screeched to a halt before the mansion gates, now decorated with new dents and scratches and cracks. An old mattress caught under and dragged along. Eggs enjoyed the drive, a rush like _progress!_ thrilling through him. Though _for now_ , he decided to stick to Bacon, currently loaded in the truck bed and hopefully unscathed. Clover was not as bad a teacher as he was a driver, but Die's offer to teach him later seemed the better option.

 

            Trace greeted them at the brown, patchy front lawn.

            “Hey! Where you dickwads been?” He sniffed. “...Heh, nevermind.”

            “Coppers been here?” Clover said, legs dangling from Eggs’ shoulder.

            “No coppers,” Trace said, “but half the Midnight Crew been snoopin’ ‘round while you ran out an’....” he took a good sniff, “... _played_. Haha.”

           Clover glowered. “You do realize how creepy you sound right now, right?”

           Trace cleared his throat. “ _Anyways_ , Boxcars, he ripped the damn front door of the hinges and tossed that shit in the yard. So careful with it.” Eggs approached the front door, clearly upright and in its place, more or less. “Only reason it ain’t on the ground is ‘cause we borrowed some of your duct tape, Eggs. Quit hoardin’ it, by the way.”

            The new hinges looked like shit, but they seemed to work. Eggs carefully pushed the door open, to find that the foyer inside was a disaster site. Furniture broken, walls daubed with red, carpet curled up and crooked.

            “What’s that photo on the floor there?” Clover said, squinting.

            Over Clover’s question, Die said, “What else?”

           Trace leaned against the door frame. “Cans showed big bad baby grand out. Then he gone off to do some other bullshit, was gonna go snoop... er I mean, uh... investigate. Detective work, see. ‘Til me an’ Fin caught wind of Deuce plantin’ bombs. Then Cro made us track ‘em down. Still workin’ on it.”

           “So... the house is infested with bombs,” Die said, “yet you seem to be taking your sweet time.”

           Trace grinned, showing off those wicked sharp teeth. “Haha. You hear the part ‘bout Fin helpin’? He ain’t seen no explosions yet. Chill.”

            “Wow,” Clover said. “Sounds fun. So, you’re good, right?”

            Trace said, “How ‘bout some fuckin’ help? You know Quarts the only one knows how to disarm this shit. Fin gotta keep goin’ between me an’ him whenever we find a new one.”

            Die groaned. “Seriously? Still? You all fucking know one of our major enemies is an explosives expert and no one else has taken the time to learn how to counter this shit? Am I writing a death journal so you assholes can ignore it?” Die paused, self conscious of the ensuing stares. “Wh... what?” He held his arm and hung his head. “I-is my room still intact? I... I have some tools s-somewhere.”

            “Yeah,” Trace said, scratching his head. “Uh, thanks?” Die silently started up to his room, sticking closely to the walls as a support. “Is he serious?” Trace said.

            Said Clover, “He reads a lot! Have you seen his room? Nevermind, I’m sure you have.” Clover said to Eggs, “Wish he’d talk about himself more, though. Wonder what else he knows how to do?”

            “Whatever,” Trace said. “Anythin’ else you can’t live without knowin’?”

            Eggs nodded briskly. “Yeah, uh, so everything’s okay? Nobody hurt? Where’s Biscuit?”

            “With Quarts, takin’ care of this big one in Cro’s office,” Trace said, pointing a thumb inside the house. “Nah, ain’t no one hurt that Stitch can’t fix up, that I know of. So-- I scratched your back, now you scratch mine, eh? Seriously, I gotta get back on Cans’ trail....”

            Clover said, “Uhh, gee Trace, does it look like we can sniff out past trails? Yeah, yeah, don’t say it, luck! But seriously, can’t you do that yourself? Or are you on the merlin shit again?”

            Trace groaned and left the door without answering in anything more than mumbled curses.

            Eggs called after him, “If you need a tip, uh, did ya try disarming ‘em with _password_? ‘Cause that worked for me! Uh... once. Aw, he’s not listening. Let’s go, Clove’.”

           

            The rest of the house appeared in order, or at least in no less order than usual. Crowbar’s office door was ajar. Quarters knelt on the floor inside, a hefty black device ticking and blinking before him. Biscuits, using the edge of Crowbar’s desk as a chair, handed Quarters the pliers he asked for as Eggs stepped in.

            Eggs circled around and whispered to Biscuits, “What’re you doing?”

            “Watching and helping,” he said, bobbing his head confidently.

            “You know he’s trying to disarm a bomb, right?” Clover said. “And you prolly shouldn’t be in here?”

            “I know what it is!”

            “ _Quiet_ ,” Quarters growled. “Biscuits is fine. Just _be quiet_.” His hands and voice shook visibly.

            “See?” Biscuits said, “He called me _fine_.”

            Clover muffled his giggles with his mouth. Turning his head, Eggs whispered a suggestion to Clover. He uncovered his mouth and rolled his eyes.

            “Oh, fine,” he said, and blew a kiss towards Quarters. As Eggs exited, Clover said, “One of these days my lips’ll fall off. You guys need to get some charms or something. In fact, I’ll get you and Die some horseshoes.”

            “Hey, watch it!”

            Eggs and Clover startled, having nearly bumped into Trace. In his arms was a covered birdcage, its insides shaking and rattling. At Trace’s side stood a bored-looking Fin, a blinking bomb under his arm.

            “Where’d you come from!” Eggs said, backing up. Fin flicked his wrists sideways, gesturing _move over!_

            Trace tilted his head. “Oh, see, when a few dozen men an’  a woman fuck like crazy for hours an’ get too shitfaced to operate a goddamn rubber-”

            “Trace, you know what I meant!” Eggs pouted. “I know where babies come from.”

            Clover said, “Yeah, we don’t wanna sit here and listen to your family stories right now, hilarious as they are.”

            “Eggs,” Fin said, “Fucking _move_! Or did you not notice the literally ticking timebomb?”

            As Eggs sidestepped away, Clover said, “Wow Fin, rude. Don’t _explode_ on us or anything.”

            Fin shot Clover a nasty look. “I am going to fucking bite your eyes out in your sleep, fun size.”

            Trace, leaning towards Eggs and Clover, whispered, “I been tryin’ to steer him towards food that ain’t acquaintances of ours. Bad for business. Believe it or don’t, only pickin’ out the eyes is a step forward.”

            “Oooh, wonderful,” Clover said. Fin banged at the office door, greeted by Biscuits.

            “Delivery,” Fin said. Trace intervened, squeezing between Fin and Biscuits.

            “Wait wait wait, don’t be givin’ that to Biscuits.”

            “Quarts is _right there_ ,” Biscuits protested, swinging the door wider and gesturing to him. “What’cha think’s gonna happen between here and there? I can give it to him!” Trace shoved the birdcage into Biscuits’ arms. Biscuits shoved it back, only for Trace to return it again and squeeze through. Fin followed. Biscuits frowned.

            “Give that cage to Cro,” Trace said. Biscuits, clutching the cage to his chest, joined Eggs and Clover outside the office.

           “What’s up, Biscuit?” Eggs said, rubbing his hands together. “You’re actin’ kinda... weird.”

           Biscuits lowered his head, struggling to come up with words. Shifting his weight, he muttered a few incomprehensible words. Eggs asked again if he was okay.

           “It’s... nothin’,” Biscuits said. “I’m goin’ to our... my room.”

           Clover said to Eggs, “Go follow him.” He slid down Eggs’ back and landed neatly behind him. “I’m gonna go catch up with Die.”

 

           “Are you sure?” Quarters said as Fin handed him the last bomb.

           “Yeah, all clear,” Trace said.

           “Don’t see any explosions,” Fin said. “Shorty must’ve set the timers too long.”

           Quarters said, “Hm... I hope so. If you two are wrong....”

           “I am not fucking wrong,” Fin snarled.

           “You fucking better not be.”

 

           Eggs joined Biscuits in their room, seating himself on the bottom bunk, beside Biscuits. The covered bird cage had calmed itself; Biscuits set it down near the time ovens.

           Eggs said, “Did something happen?”

           Biscuits crossed his arms. “Uh, duh! Something happened! A long time ago! You! I’m all alone now.”

           “You’re not alone,” Eggs said. “We hang out all the time. Clover likes you, too! Or... uh, you at least amuse ‘em or something. I dunno.”

           “No, uh, that’s... different,” Biscuits said, shaking his head. “It’s... like, it’s like... I’m not alone like that. I’m alone like... _alone_ alone.”

           Eggs cocked his head. “You... want a boyfriend?”

           “No!” Biscuits said, spreading his hands indignantly. “I’m not alone like that either! You’re supposed to be smart. Weren’t you listening? I’m _stupid_. I’m the stupid one now. The _only_ stupid one now.” Biscuits gripped the edge of the bed and kicked his feet. “And, I’m done with it. I wanna be more like you.”

           Eggs tried to speak, opened his mouth but shut it again. Lifting one finger, he finally said, “Uh, no.”

           “Uh, yeah?” Biscuits said.

           “Uh, no! No you don’t,” Eggs said, waving that finger. “Did you see my face lately? Those ain’t tattoos.”

           Biscuits gave him an unimpressed look. “Yeah. But they look cool.”

           “Well... yeah, but-”

           “You know what else you got?” Biscuits said, leaning forward. He counted on his fingers: “Friends, awesome sex like all the time, a new dad, a sweet bike, adventures!”

           “Those weren’t adventures! Those sucked!”

           “You saw dinosaurs!” Biscuits said, frustrated. “I wanna see dinosaurs too. Everybody has time powers but only you and Clove’ and Die saw dinos. That’s crap!”

           “Sawbuck’s seen dinosaurs!” Eggs said.

           “Sawbuck’s not in our... uh, main, uh... thing you’re doing!” Biscuits said.

           “We’re not going back for dinosaurs, Biscuit. Seriously,” Eggs said. “They’re cool as toys and movies but not up close when they’re trying to eat your friends.”

           “Yeah well, from the story you told, it was mostly the Midnight Crew’s fault, not the dinos,” Biscuits said, arcing an eyebrow.

           “Do you even know what I saw back there?” Eggs said, desperate. “I sat in a gross stall for hours, watching people get chased down and eaten and gored by their backup dinos. I saw kids... and all these hallucinations ‘cause of the stupid tachy shit. I saw Die get eaten and beat up a few different times, and myself, and that’s with nausea and headaches too.” Eggs took a deep breath and held his chest. “Then there’s all the other stuff that happened after that. It sucked, okay?”

           “...Okay,” Biscuits said, a soft frown forming on his face. Shifting awkwardly in his seat, he said, “No dinosaurs. But....”

           “But what?” Eggs said. Rubbing his hands together, he said, “Right, it’s not just the dinosaurs, huh.”

           “Your friends only hang out with me ‘cause you hang out with me,” Biscuits said. “Except Clover. She’s cool. But Die doesn’t like me.”

           “Die doesn’t... dislike you,” Eggs said carefully. “I mean... you and him... uh... that one time....”

           Biscuits’ eyes widened. “Uhhhhh. That was different. He liked me _then_. But not, uh... usually. He told you?!”

           “Nevermind that!” Eggs said. “You guys do whatever just... uh,” Eggs rubbed the back of his neck, “use... you know... safety things... and don’t tell me what you did ‘cause I really don’t need to know.”

           “Yeah, okay, whatever,” Biscuits said. “We’re not done talking ‘bout how much better your life is than mine now, Mr. _Has a Dad_. We’re supposed to be brothers. That shit’s not fair.”

           “Uhh, well-”

           “And, and, I want cool powers,” Biscuits said, hands to his chest. “You have powers, but you won’t share anymore, and you don’t even use them that much.”

           “Wait,” Eggs said, “what’s _that_ have to do with my brain thing?”

           Biscuits pointed to the extra oven. “I didn’t forget about that, ever. I know you’re hidin’ something. I wanna know.”

_Fuck._

           Like a deer in headlights, Eggs clammed up. Biscuits prodded him, pleaded until Eggs said, “There’s, uh... nothing.”

           “So I’m not good enough for it anymore? I’m too dumb, huh?”

           “No, I just-- uh, shit,” Eggs said, fidgeting. “I can’t-”

           “You promised me,” Biscuits said, trembling with sadness and anger. “You went through all this crap, and now you’re gonna pretend like it’s not a thing that happened! Whenever I catch you using that oven to shove in your dumb clothes and shit, it’s like... like... you’re shoving a knife up my heart’s ass!”

           Eggs gaped, struggling to answer coherently. “Wh-what?”

           “Uh, okay no I guess hearts probably don’t got asses,” Biscuits said, “but... still. I’m not happy.”

           Eggs gulped, clutching his arms tightly. “I... told them I wouldn’t. Die and Clover. Even the other you told me not to.”

           Biscuits sniffed. “You won’t... at least tell me what it did?”

           Eggs looked over to the two ovens, now dresser drawers, then back at Biscuits. Inside he debated, remembered, kicked himself repeatedly _stupid stupid what are you about to do_.

           “Um... well... hm. I guess... telling you what it _did_ and not how to _do_ it would be okay... then maybe you’d get why I can’t say.”

_Stupid._

 

           From inside the bird cage, the bound and gagged Clubs Deuce perked up, and though he had no idea what it was they discussed exactly, it sounded interesting.

 

           “Die?” Clover said, stepping into the room. Following the cleared path into the center, Clover tapped Die’s shoulder. Kneeling before a disheveled pile of literature, Die did not react or otherwise move, except for his tense, deep breathing. Clover added, “They got the bombs taken care of, you don’t need to... what are you even doing? You okay, babe?”

           “Clover... look,” he said, voice trembling. Clover boosted himself up to see over Die’s shoulder, to see the plain, black box embedded within the books. It bore no special lights, obvious adornments, unless one were to squint. Sketched crudely in blue ink, a small club marked the corner.

           “Ah. I see,” Clover said, not without audible apprehension.

_BOOM_

           Clover and Die caught themselves screaming-- though the house-shaking explosion came from outside the room. Loud cursing followed it. _Quarters?_ The disturbance forced several books to slide or fall away, revealing the toolbox Die had been searching for.

            Clover, hand squeezing Die’s shoulder, said, “Can you really disarm Deuce’s bombs?” Without giving him a chance to answer, Clover tugged Die’s face close and covered his lips and cheeks in rapidfire kisses.            “There, now it doesn’t matter. Do... something!”

           “I-I, I’ve never,” Die reached for the toolbox, “actually... done it before, only, only studied, I’ve... shit. Finally getting my practice I suppose. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

           “Alright, alright, relax,” Clover said in an even voice. “I kissed the shit outta your precious little face. Pay attention!”

           “Th-that’s not it!” Die said. “Fuck. It’s... Trace was collecting the bombs. He said that he had all of them, right? Th-that’s what you said.”

           “Y... yeah,” Clover said warily. “And... Fin said he didn’t see any... explosions... and... oh. Oh.”

 

           “What the hell was that?” Eggs stood straight up, striking his head against the top bunk in the process. It surprised him more than hurt him, but what alarmed him more was the muffled giggling following the explosion. It originated from inside the covered birdcage Biscuits had dragged into their room. “Is that...” he rushed over and tore the covering off of the cage. “CD!”

           “Mmhmmphee!”

           Eggs carefully opened the door, snatched the wet gag from Clubs Deuce’s mouth and swiftly shut the gate.

           “That’s me,” Deuce repeated, coherently this time. With a grin, he said, “Wanna make somethin’ of it?”

           “I dunno, you’re the one in the cage,” Eggs said, wiping his fingers on his pants. “Biscuit, why the hell is CD here?”

           Biscuits bit his lip. “Uhhh... I dunno. Maybe ‘cause I was supposed to take that thing to Crowbar but I... didn’t yet. Sorry.”

           “Not that it would’ve done nothin’!” Deuce said. “There are so many bombs you’re never gonna find, you don’t even know!”

           “Wuh-- shit!” Eggs said. “How many?”

           Deuce cocked his head. “Uh... thing about that is, I don’t even know, either. I sorta just shoved a bunchload in a couple bags and went to town.”

           “Crap,” Eggs said. “We gotta tell-”

           “-Yeah, I know!” Biscuits said, starting out the door. “Let’s go!” Eggs tossed the cloth over the birdcage.

           “Wait! Wait,” Deuce said, “You can’t leave me here!”

           “Yeah we can. Watch,” Biscuits said. “Seeya!”

 

_BOOM_

 

           “Jesus Christ,” Crowbar said. Already, he was investigating the rogue explosions. Deuce’s confession, while nice, was largely unnecessary now. Crowbar froze at the remains of a destroyed hall, a massive gaping hole across the splintered floor. Only a lean support joist bridged the gap. When the second bomb detonated, Crowbar caught a great view of it blasting the front of Doze’s room apart. He pressed his back against the wall and carefully crossed the joist.

           “Doze?” he said.

           “I’m okay,” he called back. “Dangling from a considerable height is all.” Crowbar squinted, unable to penetrate the smoke. Once on the other side, he hastily and carefully scaled the debris, finding Doze clinging to the edge of another gaping maw in the floor. “Take your time,” Doze said. “I’ll just hang out here....”

           “I got you,” Crowbar said. He planted himself firmly and gripped Doze’s arms, struggling to pull him up. With much grunting and sweating and heaving, Crowbar helped him onto solid ground. “Fuck,” he said, wiping his forehead. “You’re heavy.”

           “Oh,” Doze flatly said. “...Thanks.”

           Crowbar craned his neck forward.

           “Hm. We’re on the first floor. Didn’t know there were another one down there.”

           “Yeah, that’s where I keep the hooker bodies,” Doze said. Crowbar did not hear him over Matchsticks’ voice, shouting out to him from the hallway.

            “Cro? What’s the damage over there?”

            “Nothin’ too important,” Crowbar said. “Shit... go make sure Stitch is okay! Help him get these effigies outta the house while we figure shit out.” He offered his hand to Doze. “C’mon, I’ll help you cross this thing.”

 

            A green crowd gathered before the flaming manor, watching as yet another bomb detonated. Eggs and Biscuits caught up with Die and Clover, relieved to see each other. Matchsticks dumped a pile of effigies near them and everyone felt the fall.

            “Careful, damn it,” Stitch said.

            “Who’s missing?” Crowbar said. Quarters pushed Trace forward.

            Trace said, “Uh, Snowy was out doing her own thing like usual, so’s Sawbuck an’ Cans. I ain’t been able to find Itchy, though.”

            Crowbar arced an eyebrow. “ _You couldn’t find him_?”

            “His room-- there were a bigass hole in the floor and a shitload of broken shit that I couldn’t move, also it was all on fire,” Trace said, gesturing with his hands. “His trail was kinda shaky but it seems like it was goin’ in the hole.”

            “Well fuck,” Crowbar said. He turned to the others. “Well... anyone wanna go in and get Itchy?”

            There was a lot of awkward shuffling and averted glances, but no volunteers.

            “You assholes!” Trace said. “That’s my friend in there! Crowbar?”

            Crowbar tilted his head at the effigy pile. “Stitch?”

            Stitch, with some difficulty, knelt and gave the hangman a brief examination. “He ain’t dead.”

            Crowbar shrugged. “He can wait a bit then. Besides, fucker pissed in the freezer last night.”

            “He was drunk!” Trace pleaded.

            “I’ll go get him!” Biscuits said. He pounded his chest with a fist and marched forward. Eggs did a double take and snatched him by the shoulder.

            “What’re you doing _now_?”

            “I just said,” Biscuits said. “I’m gonna go save Itchy.”  He wrested his shoulder free and continued onwards. Eggs rushed after him, with Clover almost following suit.

            “I’ll be fine, Clove’,” Eggs said, one hand extended in a _stop_ gesture. “I still got some of your luck on me. ‘Sides... um... I think I need some quality time with Biscuits, okay?”

            “Alrighty,” Clover said. “Kind of a shitty way to spend ‘quality time’ together, but whatever works! I’ll be right here, Eggsy.”

            “Same,” Die said.

            Eggs nodded, then ran into the building, calling after Biscuits.

            “Well,” Trace said. “Uh...  uh, Fin?”

            “They’ll be fine,” Fin said. “I see their trails, and they’re fine.”

            “Oh, like how you saw the house burning down,” Doze said. Fin rolled his eyes and mimicked his sentence in a whiny voice.

            “Shut up!” Fin said. “Already got Quarters trying to fucking eat me. Don’t have to take this shit from you too, or anybody else here. In fact, I’m not. See you meatsacks later. Fuckers.”

            Fin sulked off into the garage, as yet mostly untouched by the blasts. Matchsticks, in a low but still audible voice said, “I don’t normally give a shit, but we gotta keep those two off the goddamn drugs.”

            “It weren’t no drugs!” Trace said. “I fucking swear, it’s-- they--”

            Quarters bared his normally hidden, sharp teeth. “I would love to stay pissed at them but... yes. I believe they’re clean. At the moment.”

            Stitch said, “Yeah, they’re clean. Today.”

            Die cleared his throat, stretched his collar, and spoke up. “M... Midnight Crew. Tachyonite.”

            Clover quietly egged him on. “Details, details,” he whispered.

            “I’m listening, Die,” Crowbar said. Die cleared his throat again, shaking with anxiety and excitement.

            “HB apparently created excellent distraction,” he quickly said. “CD planted obvious bombs, decoys to lull us into sense of security, along with ones without the digital timers and blinking lights. The covert bombs’ innards contained traces of tachyonite. Small, b-but... just effective enough. Th... that’s all.”

            “Thank you, Die,” Crowbar said. “ _Very_ good to know. Alright, we need to... not fucking be here for a day or so. Hope Deuce didn’t set no timers to go off later than that. Sticks, Quarts, let’s hit whatever bar doesn’t remember us too badly right now and figure out how to... repay the Midnight Crew. Everyone else? We meet up later. I’ll give Snowman a call an’ can tell the others. So, Quarts? Where’ll it be?”

            Clover whispered to Die. “That was good! You did good. See, isn’t that so much better than talking to him through a really morbid journal?”

            “I-I uh, I don’t know,” Die said, giddy.

            “So, what are the rest of us supposed to do meanwhile, exactly?” Doze said.

            “Don’t care,” Crowbar said. Quarters reached into his jacket for his notepad, flipping through the pages. “Just don’t be here.”

            “I think... I will catch up with you later,” Quarters said.

            “‘Cause of Eggs,” Crowbar nodded. “Gotcha.”

“Heh. Yes,” Quarters said. He scratched the back of his head. “Besides, someone needs to stay here to deal with the firefighters. _Some_ of us may have incriminating evidence in that house.”

            “Why did you have to look at me just then?” Matchsticks said. “Shit. It’s hot out here. You’re really gonna stand out here and wait?”

            “Yes.”

            “Right, right,” Crowbar said. “Meet you later at Black Dragon? Alright. That’s where we’ll be, everyone. Midnight. Unless something happens... then Desert Rose is our backup.” Crowbar and Quarters gave each other a fierce handshake, then Quarters with Matchsticks.

            With some help, Stitch had the effigies loaded up in one of the vans to take to the warehouse where he used to keep Eggs and Biscuits’. Doze disappeared.  All that remained were Die, Clover, Quarters and Trace. The four of them stood somewhat awkwardly together, watching the house burn and waiting for the sound of sirens. Help had been called for earlier, but no telling when they would actually decide to arrive, especially for alien gangsters.

            “Hey,” Clover said, eyeing Quarters. “We should be pals, you and me an’ Die.”

            “Really,” Quarters said, hands clutched behind his back, head tilted downward. “And why is that, exactly?”

            “Well, we’re all sitting here waiting for Eggs, right? And uh, Biscuits I guess... but yeah, common ground! We all love the big dope.”

            Trace said, “And Itchy. Waiting for Itchy.”

            “What do you see in that prick?” Clover said.

            “He’s a prick, but he’s _my_ prick,” Trace said. “And he might owe me a little money too... but mostly, he’s my friend.”

            Die exhaled deeply. “You like who you like, I suppose... even if that person might not deserve it.”

            “Shush,” Clover said. “ _You_ deserve it... unless you actually were talking about Itchy just then. I dunno. You’re great though, Die.”

            Die smiled. “You’re great, too.” One of the chartreuse towers blazed up and crumbled to ash. “I hope Itchy’s dead in there.”

            “...This is a really fucked up family,” Trace said.

 

            “C’mon,” Biscuits said, bending to move a grandfather clock.”You weren’t really gonna leave him in there anyways.”

            “No,” Eggs said. He batted flames from Biscuits’ shoulder. “But... I was kinda hopin’ somebody else might volunteer first. I’m tired, okay?”

            “But I volunteered first,” Biscuits said. “I can do this all by myself. You still think I’m dumb. I’m not that smart, but I’m not that dumb! I don’t know a lot of things, that’s all. Okay? And _why are you hitting me?_ ”

            “You’re _on fire_ , Biscuit!”

           “Oh, oka... Shit!” Biscuits tore off his jacket. The two of them frantically stomped and smothered the fire out. “Ooh,” Biscuits said, taking the jacket in his hands, filthy with a large hole now singed into it. “Stitch is gonna be mad, isn’t he.” He slipped the jacket back on. “Thanks, Eggsy. Y’know, I was wonderin’ why it was so hot in here.”

           Burning cinders floated down around them, flames licked and grew in the wooden walls of the hallway.

           Eggs inched away from one of the flickering flares and wiped sweat from his brow. “Uh, yeah, that was why... sure. C’mon.”

           They continued to work their way through the smoldering debris, fanning choking smoke with their hats, stumbling through weakened floorboards. The trip to Itchy’s room should have been a fairly short one, but the flames were having none of that.

           “Haven’t heard an explosion in a--” _BOOM._ A cascade of broken wood and furniture and shards fell around them from the above floor.“--oh there it is.”

           They were both left bloodied and with pieces of metal and glass sticking from their skin, but otherwise okay. As resilient as Eggs was, Biscuits was probably even moreso.

           “Dy’a think houses can have effigies?” Biscuits said.

 

           Just before the entrance to Itchy’s room, Biscuits stepped and almost fell when the floor gave way under him. Eggs peered down into the resulting hole.

           “Hey. I think that’s... the library?”

           Below indeed was a library, with tile floor now messed with ash and slivers. If he tilted his head, he could see a row of bookshelves, not yet touched by the flames. Eggs called out Itchy’s name. If there was an answer, he did not hear it. Biscuits squeezed in next to him and helped him look.

           “I see his hat!” Biscuits pointed.

           “Oh... oh, I see it now. Damn.”

           “How’re we supposed to get down?” Biscuits said. “Uhh-- maybe, maybe you can make more yous, and then you can be a ladder! I can make the hole bigger.” He kicked at the sides, breaking away the brittle wood.

           “Er, hm,” Eggs said. He sat on the edge of the hole, legs dangling down. “I... yeah, I guess I could.” He took a deep breath, then dug the timer out from his jacket pocket. _You’ll be okay_ , he thought, and again a few more times as he created two time clones. They both appeared on the floor below, already stacked on one another.

           Eggs and Biscuits made it down safely, though the other Eggses suffered a bit for it as Biscuits could not quite see where he was stepping. Immediately, Biscuits snatched up the hat and tossed it to Eggs. Not far from it was a burning grandfather clock, further illuminated by the firelight of a second hole directly above it. Under the clock lay an out-cold Itchy, bloodied and bruised, but breathing. Eggs and Biscuits shoved the clock to the side.

           “I got him,” Biscuits said, gripping Itchy’s limp arms. Eggs stopped him.

           “W-wait, uhh, shit... uh-”

           “What?”

           “I’m thinkin’!” Eggs said. “Tryin’ to think of what Die might say so we don’t mess this up....”

           Biscuits frowned. “He’d say bury him and pretend we didn’t find him.”

           “Uh... good point,” Eggs said. “Okay, um, we gotta do this right. Don’t just drag him, we should be careful.”

           Eggs-2 said, “Idea! We need like, one of those uh, bed things, like they do with ambulances. I’ll go get a thing that isn’t all messed up and on fire.”

 

 _Maybe a cart_ , Eggs-2 thought as he scanned the branching aisles. So far, no carts, but plenty of discarded books and spiders to step on. It was much cooler down here, away from direct sunlight, under the earth, and Eggs-2 would have enjoyed it if not for the creepiness factor.

            Not too far in, Eggs-2 started hearing faintly echoing noises, like shuffling feet. His ears perked up, he steeled himself, and continued onwards with more sneak in his step. Darkness closed in as he distanced himself from the explosion site, but from what he assumed was the source of the sounds, he spied another light emitting, teasingly flickering from behind an aisle. Eggs-2 crept forward and pressed his back against the shelf’s side, then inched inward.

           For a terrifying second, Eggs-2 thought he saw Hearts Boxcars, stumbling backwards and falling to the floor. The other man shouted in surprise and twirled and fell onto the bag and bomb he had been hunched over.

           The man was not Boxcars. In fact, Eggs-2 had no idea _who_ he was, though he seemed terribly familiar, somehow. His shape was similar to the big brute, with less belly and bulk, yet still large. He wore all black-- suit, fedora, even a face mask, with only a triangle of white undershirt, broken up by more black in the form of a tie.

 _Like the Midnight Crew_.

           Eggs-2’s eyes fell to the side, at the bomb, then at the man’s fingers that rested on it. Specifically, the color of the finger that made itself evident through the hole in his black glove.

           Eggs-2 launched himself from the floor onto the other man, whom not only braced himself, but kicked and punched with incredible strength. Eggs-2 held his ground just long enough to snatch the corner of the man’s mask and tear it away.

           The man’s face was his own, only with different scars.

           “Uh....” the sharply-dressed clone said. He held out his hands as if on a flat surface. “I’m... I’m a mirror! Yeah, that’s it... bye!”

           Kicked hard in the gut, Eggs-2 found himself on his back and gasping for breath. He propped himself up in time to catch the black-garbed copy whip out his own egg timer, pop the dial and vanish into the aether. Eggs-2 cursed loudly, scrambling to find his own artifact.

           Biscuits’ voice hit him like a train, forcing him to repocket his timer as he suddenly recalled that they happened to be inside a burning, exploding building, with a man down. _One thing at a time._

           “Sh... shit,” he said. Eggs-2 wondered briefly if he had imagined things, but, the odd clone had left behind evidence: a bag, a bomb with a club on it, and a playing card. He must have knocked it from the man’s pocket during the struggle.

           Eggs-2 picked up the Joker card, scribbled over in marker. He recognized it as his own handwriting.

           “Bad Beat... ?”

           “Eggsy! Hurry up! It’s getting really really hot in here!”

           “Uhh, uh, coming!” Eggs-2 said.

 

           “Son of a bitch!” Clover said, perched atop the yard’s bone-dry fountain. “There’s a firetruck down there, guys. A _parked_ firetruck, and firefighters... high-fiving each other!”

           Quarters squinted. “Are those... cameras?”

           “Eggs!” Die suddenly said, pulling Clover and Quarters’ attention. One Eggs, with a bag draped over his shoulder, and Biscuits emerged from the front door. Itchy was sprawled atop a salvaged board between them.

           Shortly after, a second Eggs emerged with the birdcage containing Deuce.

           “Why not?”

 

           “Shit, he dead?” Trace said. Itchy groaned. Trace grinned then began groping Itchy’s pockets for his wallet. “What? Ain’t like he ever was gonna pay me back on his own. Oh, and uh... Biscuits?” Trace sheepishly said as he pocketed the money, “fuck, uh... thanks.”

           Biscuits crossed his arms and bobbed his head. “Damn right thanks.”

           After giving Eggs a quick hug, Quarters retrieved a machine pistol from his jacket and charged towards the firefighters on the street below.

           “Try not to kill ‘em!” Clover said, cupping his hands around his mouth. “We sorta need them!” He plopped down near Itchy’s head and prodded him with a finger. “So, anybody got a marker?”

           “Hey, he could really be hurt!” Trace said. “But yeah, I got a marker.”

 

            …..

 

            Itchy awakened on his own, in the middle of Biscuits flapping Itchy’s jaw and mimicking his voice. After much cursing and flailing, Trace helped him up, reluctantly thanking Eggs and Biscuits one more time before departing.

 

           Eggs, Biscuits, Clover and Die returned to the Oasis Hotel suit later that day. It seemed a miracle that the hotel would allow them in once again, but Clover was a walking miracle.

           “Also, different shift!” Clover said. “It helps.”

            Biscuits tossed Deuce, still caged, in the closet before joining the others in the living area.

            “This is strange,” Die said, pacing rapidly like a caged animal. “Police after us. Prospitan’s distraction. Midnight Crew attacks... well _CD_ attacks.”

            “Boxy helped!” Deuce said through the closet door.

            “And... this clone that Eggs saw.” He rubbed his knuckles. “All started when I shot those Hatchets.” His eyes flashed. “I pissed of the Hatchet Gang. One or more of those I shot must have survived. God.” He rubbed his temples. “I’m such a... fuck.”

            “It must’ve been just a few of them,” Clover said. “This whole revenge scheme seems sorta half-assed, for them.”

            Die nodded. “If, if they wanted, they could have had the entire police force after us. Could’ve egged the whole Midnight Crew into a big attack. Maybe more.”

            “How’d they do that stuff?” Biscuits said. “They don’t seem so tough!” He thought. “Then again... heard once that they all know kung-fu....”

            “It’s how they operate!” Clover said. “Blackmail, trickery, bribes, that sorta thing! They specialize in information and using it to screw their enemies over. As for the kung-fu, I think they made that up and started spreading that rumor themselves.”

            “Okay, yeah, that’s all interesting and whatever,” Eggs said, waving his hands, two lit cigarettes dangling from his lips. He stood and drew the Joker card from his pocket. “But I saw one of my clones in Midnight Crew clothes planting a bomb in our house! How’s that not a big thing right now? I wanna talk about _that_. I even got his business card!” He tossed the card onto the glass table and took a hard puff. “Bad Beat. I think that’s his name. He even has a Midnight Crew-y name holy shit what the hell.”

            “It’s... it’s a little hard to believe,” Die said. “Not that I don’t believe you. Of course I do. But, it’s... it’s you. Sweet, loyal... you. You... were sure it was you, right?”

            “He had a timer,” Eggs said. “And I kinda know what I look like, Die. His scars were different though. And I think he was uh... less,” he rubbed his shoulder. Reluctantly, he finished: “ch... chubby. Had more muscle or something. I don’t know. He’s really good at kicking. Still hurts.”

            “Weird,” Clover said. “You okay, Eggsy?”

            “Yeah,” he said, collapsing back into his seat. “Just... weirded out, I guess. What a long day.”

            “You said it,” Clover said. “You asked Deuce about this yet? By the way-- I’m keeping him. I bet he’d make a great pet. _Ha_. You hear that Deuce? How d’ya like that?”

            “What?” Deuce called. “I... don’t like it? What’re you on about!”

            “He doesn’t know nothin’,” Eggs said. “Only that his name was ‘BB’ and DD sent him.”

            “Wow,” Biscuits said.“You guys have all these interestin’ adventures, huh? This sounds like a totally awesome uhh... mystery! We should go back and figure out what’s going on like right now!”

            Die shook his head. “You... do that if you want. I’m going to bed.”

            “Same!” Clover said.

           “Yeah, same,” Eggs said, forcing himself off the couch.

           “But... it’s... not even dark yet,” Biscuits said. “What’s wrong with you guys?”

           Clover raised his arms over his head. “Gee, how much more crazy bullshit can whatever angry god that’s doing this cram in a day? Let’s not find out! G’night!”

           The bedroom door shut behind them, Biscuits sighed and searched for the remote.

           “Hey? Guys?” said Deuce. Biscuits turned up the volume. “Guys, I’m hungry. Anyone? Hello? Uh... sorry for the bombs and whatever I did to Clover? Can I have food now? And maybe an empty bottle? At least some newspaper? Please? Guys? It’s dark in here.”

 

           Settled in the middle of the bed was Eggs, curled up with Clover against his chest and Die against his back. He held the card, turning it end over end in his fingers, and though he was hazy, his mind was quite alert.

           “I hope our stuff is okay,” Eggs said, quietly so as not to wake the already sleeping Clover. “You know when we get back there only Clove’s room’s gonna be left standing.”

           “We might luck out,” Die said.

           “I left my... special photo back there,” Eggs said. “What if... what if BB takes it.” Eggs opened his eyes wide. “Wh-what if BB takes one of my suits and pretends to be me sometimes? How long has he been around?”

           “-Sleep,” Die said. He opened an eye and took Eggs’ wrist, urging him to put the card down. “Relax. We’ll... we’ll figure it out. Everything will... be okay. It’s always... turned out okay. But sleep, for now.”

           “...Have we ever had sex, but except I was, uh, stronger looking, and I didn’t remember us having sex later?”

           “ _Eggs_.”

           “Okay. Sleeping,” Eggs said. “Sorry.”

           Die rose up to plant a few tender kisses on Eggs’ mouth.

           “No. I would have realized pretty quickly,” he said. “I don’t recall you ever not eh... remembering, either.”

           “Ehe. Right,” Eggs said. “...D’ya think he’s a ghost? Okay, okay, sorry. I’ll... I’ll stop. For now. It’s just....” Die nuzzled his cheek against Eggs’ face.

           “I know.”

....

 _Eggs fell somewhere between reality and dreams. His head was bleary, his body heavy. Something sat heavily on his chest, hindering his breathing, paralyzing him._ The playing card? _In the midst of panic, he thought he heard something like ringing, heavy breathing, but it was so muted._

_Someone stood over him, his face obscured by shadow. It was not Die. It was not Biscuits, it was definitely not Clover._

_He heard footsteps. The figure disappeared._

           Eggs woke. The card, still between his fingers, was tucked back into his shirt pocket as Eggs sat up. It felt like morning, dimmed, orange light filtering through the curtains. Eggs jerked, thinking he missed the meeting, until he realized it was only dusk. Eggs felt so sluggish and tired still, and now stupid.

           Clover lay tangled up in the sheets, sleeping peacefully. Eggs almost got up to search for Die, when he entered through the bathroom door. They locked eyes, scrutinizing each other.

           “Are... you okay?” Die said.

           Eggs rubbed his head. “I think so. Kinda... not really. Did you hear something?”

           “Yes, actually,” Die said, alarming Eggs. “Like a....”

           “...Ringing,” Eggs finished. “He’s... following me.”


	9. PHANTOM

 

            “Um... yeah, dad. I did the thing they wanted, but... that asshole seen me, and I lost that card-!”

            In a single motion, Diamonds Droog drew a card-- a pool cue-- and whipped it across Bad Beat’s face, a reddened welt left cutting across his cheek. He did nothing more than cringe, resisting the urge to cry out.

            “Do they know what you are?” Droog said, bouncing the cue stick in his hand.

            “O-only one saw me,” Beat said, grimacing. “Um... and, it was uh... _him._ ”

            _WHAP_

“Could be worse, I suppose,” Droog said. “But you’re getting sloppy.”

            “I know,” Beat said, every muscle tensed. “Sorry. Um-- uh-- I’ll do better! Promise.”

            Droog slapped his palm with the cue particularly hard. Beat flinched.

            “Good boy. Now fuck off.”

            Beat rose so rapidly he nearly knocked his chair over. He reached for his timer, almost dropping his thick sound-dampening cloth as he did so.

               "Wait," Droog said, "one more thing." He hesitated, then said, "Where... are CD and HB, exactly?"

               "Um..." Beat said, "I left a stove on or something, gotta-”

            “ _Where_ ,” Droog said, “are they?”

            Beat gulped. “Um HB got clocked.”

            Droog exhaled, exasperated. “And CD?”

            “... I... I’ll find him.”

            “Good. Go. _Covertly._ And I mean _quietly_. Without being caught. If people found out I associated with you... I may be forced to _get rid of you_. Understand?”

            “I... I know what it means!” Beat groused. He twisted the dial on his timer and vanished.

 

            Eggs jolted forward to catch Die, whom had stumbled and fallen on his way back to the bed. Insisting he was fine, Die lay there even with midnight’s encroachment. The shaded forms of Eggs or Clover or both would periodically enter to check on him, bring him water, sometimes snuggle up beside him.

            Eggs set his head into Die’s chest, just under his chin. He could not hear his heartbeat over the metal blaring from the radio. According to Die, the music was relaxing. Eggs occasionally asked about the band, or particularly the song and what the hell the lyrics were supposed to mean.

            “I have no fucking clue,” Die said. “No one does. Not even the band itself, I think. It’s just supposed to... sound cool.”

            “I think,” Eggs said, “it’s about a guy that got really drunk and fell asleep in the tub. And the tiger is uh, a floaty toy or something.”

            Die smiled. “Sure. Why not.”

            The recent trek through the desert had left him in a worse condition than he had wished to let on. It was not too unusual for Die’s health to suddenly dip, but his stubborn tendencies frightened his friends each time. Eggs filled the living room with smoke, pacing or restlessly bouncing his legs, running his eyes over Bad Beat’s card and constantly checking behind furniture and curtains _._ He could fucking _feel_ his doppelganger shadowing him,.

Clover left him be. Biscuits made attempts to distract him, only to be blown off and quickly apologized to.

            As the hour of the meeting approached, he only grew more and more anxious.

            Clover crawled across the bed to Die’s side, calling his name. Unmoving, without even opening an eye, he groaned out a response.

            “It’s nearly midnight,” Clover said. “Me and the guys are going to Crowbar’s thing-” Die’s reddish eyes cracked open, and wearily he rose up on his side. Clover pushed at his chest. “Wait-- waitwaitwait! Are you okay?”

            Die forced himself upright. “I... fuck. I hurt. But... I can go. I’m going.”

            Clover stood and mashed his mouth against Die’s. “It’s... not really helping, huh?” he said.

            “It helps,” Die said, running his fingers over Clover’s head. Eggs entered with a new glass of water. Placing it on the nightstand, he stood by the bed, giving Die a visual once-over.

            “I heard you talkin’,” Eggs said, with what appeared to be a handful of lit cigs in his fingers. “You... really feel okay enough?”

            Die gave a noncommittal grunt. Hands pressing against the bed, Die willed himself up onto his feet. It took a few tries, much cursing. Die managed to take a few steps before his knees buckled and gave way and he caught himself on Eggs’ extended arms.

            “Sh-shit,” Die said, tears of frustration welling up in his tired eyes. He clutched Eggs weakly, body limp like a doll, breathing rapid.  “Shit, shit, shit shit shitshitshit-”

            “Die!” Eggs said, carefully shifting to support Die,. “it- it’s okay! If- uhh, if you really wanna go, I can-”

            “-I... I don’t want to be carried,” Die said, cursing again under his breath, and again and again. Clover scuttled to the edge of the bed and slid off.

            “Compromise?” Clover said. “Let Eggs hold you up? At least do that?”

            “Fuck,” Die choked out, “I’m... I don’t... I’m sorry. I’m such a fucking burden.”

            “Die,” Eggs said, touching their foreheads together, “you’re sick.”

            Die swallowed, then said with a twinge of controlled anger, “So I should _give up_ and accept what a useless shit I am.”

            The door shot open, Biscuits’ visage taking up the gap. “Come onn! Just grab him, Eggsy. You want me to break his legs? Try sayin’ no _then_.”

            Die blinked rapidly, more shocked than insulted. “Um... well. I’ll... take that as a threat. So. I guess... um... okay.”

            “Geez, Biscuit,” Eggs murmured. “Please don’t.”

            Biscuits slumped. “I’m just sayin’....”

            “Tact, Biscuits,” Clover scolded. “We’ll work on that.”

           

            “Everyone, shut the fuck up!” Matchsticks said, slamming his fist into the large, round table. Drinks splashed and swayed and Itchy hastened himself to rescue bottles from tipping over.

            All fifteen members of the Felt sat now silent and attentive, until a moment later when they returned (quietly) to fidgeting or drinking or eating or sleeping in this dimly lit, smoky alcove of Black Dragon’s. A red and black curtain separated them from the rest of the black stone tavern. Extra chairs had been stacked upon each other in the corner and Clover teetered on it like a ride. Eggs and Die sat nearby at the table.

            “Thanks, Sticks,” Crowbar said, rubbing his temples.

            “So, what the fuck’s the status on the house?” Itchy said, puffing away at a cig. “Fucking shit, all the shots I’ll have to replace... my fucking guitar!”

            Snowman took one sip of her drink, then vanished and reappeared, sliding singed and waterstained albums across the table towards Itchy. A second trip afforded him his guitar. Instrument safely in his lap, he scrambled forward and spread the books of candid photos across before him, checking every page with no regard as to whom may be staring. Eggs scooted and leaned in to do just this.

            “It’s in the recovery phase,” Snowman said. “Don’t expect it to heal up pretty.”

            “Whoa, so,” Biscuits said, “the house _does_ got an effigy?”

            Clover appeared at the table to take one of the albums, letting it fall open.

            Snickering, Clover whispered, “Oh, Itchy. I didn’t know you liked _meat_ so much.” Itchy snarled and batted at Clover, retrieving his book. Clover returned to his seats, giggling.

            “Oh, sure,” Stitch said. “I’ll just whip out a dollhouse, glue a scavenged roof tile to it and and patch the poor thing right up.”

            Biscuits stared. “Really?”

            “...No,” Stitch said flatly. “It’ll fix itself. Eventually.”

“This is the worst damage done to the house yet,” Cans said. “Actually a bit surprised such decimation hadn’t occurred sooner... so, yes. As Snowman said, it will repair, but not well. Renovations will be in order.” Cans cracked his knuckles as he said this.

Itchy started plucking at his guitar strings, strumming quiet little riffs.

“Eggs’ duct tape ain’t gonna fix that pile of fuck,” Trace said, tapping his fingers against the table, “I got an idea: How’s about we hook up Clove’ and Sawbuck. Kick his ass and let that luckiness find him the near future. Then we know what to expect.” Clover glowered. Die punched Trace’s arm. “ _What_? I wanna know how it turns out!”

            “Ha,” Itchy said, still playing. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

            Sawbuck crossed his arms. “Clover’s... not really my type. And that plan sucks.”

            “Hey, hey!” Crowbar said. “This-- we ain’t here to make these kinds of plans. We gotta retaliate, specifically: take back some much-needed funds. After it stops morphing, that house is...  Itchy, does this look like band practice to you?”

            "Fuck you, _dad_." Itchy played the next few notes louder. He whispered, “Let my people rock.”

            “Itchy-”

            “Hmm,” Fin said, “Revenge... or our _living situation_... yeah, revenge is the higher priority.”

            “Shut the fuck up.” Crowbar said. “Ain’t nothin’ we can do about the house right now. We can’t speed it up, we can’t influence its shape like a goddamn bonsai tree.”

            “Don’t you pair of fucks have an apartment?” Matchsticks said.

            “It’s an _office_!” Trace said. “I don’t wanna live in no goddamn office.”

            “What poor babies,” Snowman said, sending a few smoke rings their way.

            “Ooh, what if!” Biscuits said, palms extended, “ _What if_ we go find the rest of the Midnight Crew...” he slammed one fist into his open palm, “and kill them!”

            “Brilliant!” Itchy said, throwing his hands into the air. “Fucking brilliant! Let’s give Biscuits a fucking medal. Let’s erect a goddamn statue in his honor for this incredible plan that we could have never thought of without his great, superior mind. From now on, this day will be Biscuits Day. We celebrate by shoving baked goods up our-”

            “Shut up!” Eggs said over Trace’s shrill laughter. “You’re such a dick!”

            “But,” Biscuits said after reaching over to punch Itchy's arm, “...why _don’t_ we just kill them? Seriously? There’s... uh... there’s... _more_ of us! And dad has big guns. Just shoot the guns at them! Bam! All dead!”

            “...did you just call me-”

            “Yeah, there’s more of us,” Itchy said over Quarters, “but there’s also _you_.”

            “And you are so very helpful,” Quarters said to Itchy.

            “Look, er,” Cans said, rubbing his forehead. “Tensions are... a little high right now. Maybe this wasn’t the best time for this meeting.”

            “No, no, say what you really mean,” Itchy said, taking one long, deep puff. “Say it. _Itchy, you ruin every meeting you attend_. Go ahead, wide load. Say it.”

            Cans leaned forward. Calmly, he said, “Okay. Itchy, you ruin every meeting you attend. And if you call me _wide load_ again, I will fucking flatten you.”

            “Ooh,” Trace said. “You got ‘em mad.”

            Itchy laughed. “You’re fun when you’re pissed.”

            “Oh my fucking god,” Crowbar said, rubbing his temples. “Why do I keep inviting you to these things.”

            “I don’t know,” Itchy said, plucking a few strings.

            Doze, tapping his fingers together, shrugged and said, “In addition to Biscuits’ plan... do we _really_ need a ( 1 ) and ( 3 ) that badly?”

            “The fuck’d I do?” Trace scowled.

            Itchy leaned back in his chair, feet on the table while balancing it on its hind legs. Grinning wide, he said, “Because if you pull that shit, I’ll come back as a zombie and buttfuck every one of you. Oh wait. Some of you faggots would like that, huh? Right Die?”

            Die hunched his shoulders over his drink. “Don’t drag me into this.”

            “Okay, seriously,” Crowbar said. “This is going fucking nowhere-”

            “-except to hilarity!” Clover chortled.

            “I will take care of it,” Quarters sighed. “Itchy. Meet me outside.”

            “What?” Itchy said. “If you wanna fuck, just spit it out already." He leaned forward. "But I’ll say _no_ because I have _standards._ ” Itchy pointed to the bump of his nose and snickered.

            “Oh, _shut up_ ,” Quarters said, rising from his seat. Itchy accelerated, but did not get far; Doze extended his leg and sent Itchy crashing to the floor.

   As Quarters dragged Itchy past the curtains, Crowbar said,

            “Anyone else wanna start shit?” With this, Trace grumbled and sunk into his seat.

            “Thank god,” Sawbuck said as Itchy was escorted out. “I can finally eat something without the play by play.” From under the table, his lap, Sawbuck placed a platter of steak before him. Clover leaned forward, licking his lips.

            “So,” Biscuits said, “we’re going with my plan, right? Kill the Midnight Crew?”

            Snowman chuckled. “Tell me, now where is the fun in killing the Crew outright?”

            “...Not getting stabbed anymore?” Sawbuck said, tucking a napkin into his shirt.

            “Or exploded?”

            “Eaten?”

“Fucked up the ass with a shotgun?”

            “Hmph,” Snowman said, tapping her cig against the ash tray. “See? They make our lives interesting. We would not be set free, regardless. Another gang will simply replace them in our lives. And having any other rival... just doesn’t seem right.”

            “...Says the woman whose power means she takes everything out with her,” Fin said. “The other gangs in this town are fucking dumbasses, or smart enough not to get in the way. At least we’d have that.”

            “Oooh, Eggsy,” Biscuits whispered, gently shaking the other’s shoulders. “I think they just listened to me. I had a idea and they’re _talking_ about it!”

            “I say we let CD go.”

            Attention shifted towards the corner, housing Clubs Deuce, still bound, still trapped inside the bird cage. Deuce awkwardly chuckled. “Worth a shot?”

            “Someone gag him,” Crowbar said. “Please.”

            “I’ll get him.” Clover said. “My pet, my responsibility, I guess.”

            “I’m not your pet!”

            Snowman leaned forward, cig holder clenched tightly between sharp teeth. “Allow me to clarify my argument: anyone but me kills Spades Slick-- should I tire of him-- that man gets a javelin to the face.”

            Fin backed down, not without a subtle snarl and a curt, “Whatever.” Crowbar simply hung his head and sighed.

            "See," Matchsticks murmured, "This is why we don't get shit done."

            Snowman narrowed her eyes. "I'd shove this lit cigarette in your eye, but _you_ would probably enjoy it."

            Matchsticks laughed. "We could try a thing or two after this."

            “Those arguments aside,” Clover said, rubbing his hands together, “well-- Eggsy, why don’t you tell ‘em what you saw?”

            “I- uh,” Eggs hesitated, especially with all eyes on him. He bent forward and whispered to Clover, “I... don’t really... it’s embarrassing.”

            “You told us just fine,” Clover whispered back.

            Die huddled in close and said, “We’re his friends.”

            “Okay, uh, right,” Clover waved his hands and said outloud, “Okay, let’s just say that there _may_ be an extra Midnight Crew member to contend with... and they _may_ have powers.”

            Crowbar cocked his head. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

            “It just means what it means!” Clover said. “I dunno. We’ll get back to you on the details later. Maybe.”

            “W-we’re not, um,” Die added, “entirely... sure what the... um, deal is, right yet.”

            Snowman tapped her fingers against her glass. “I don’t suppose you want me investigating.”

            “A-a-ah!” Trace said, one finger in the air. “Me an’ Fin could look into it-”

            “N-no, no, it’s fine!” Eggs said. “I don’t-- uh, we’ll- nevermind, I didn’t see nothin’. I imagined things. I thought I saw someone but it was my reflection... it was really dark.”

            “Eggs,” Crowbar said.

            “What? No-- really, uh-”

            “This sounds like some damn important info you _may_ be holdin’ out on,” Crowbar said, narrowing his eyes.

            “Crowbar! Cro, _boss..._ Crowboss,” Clover said, slamming his hands against the table. “This is kinda a touchy matter here. Can we at least gather our thoughts a bit before getting into this?”

            Crowbar, head in his hands, shut his eyes and exhaled. Scooting back, he stood and strolled around the table until he came to hover directly behind Eggs’ shoulder.

            In a low voice, he said, “It’s one of your clones, isn’t it.”

            Eggs froze like a statue, eyes wide like saucers. Only his mouth moved as he stumbled over babbling nonsense, words spilling nonsensically until Crowbar gripped Eggs' shoulder and silenced him.

            Crowbar cursed to himself, then said, “Calm-- calm down. It’s--- shit, it’s okay, just....”

            “S-sorry,” Eggs stammered, again and again.

            Crowbar said to the other Felts, “What’re you fuckers staring at?” He gestured for them to leave.

            Reluctantly, the others stood, taking the alcohol and-- in Sawbuck’s case, steak-- with, and filed out from behind the curtains. Snowman simply teleported away. Die and Clover hesitated to leave their seats, or attempt to, in Die's case.

            “You three,” he said. “You seen this, too?”

            “Well, no,” Clover said.

            “Then just take CD with you,” Crowbar said. Biscuits picked up the cage, then knelt before Die. He balked before accepting the piggyback ride. Clover and Die and Biscuits gave Eggs one last look before joining the others in the main tavern. Crowbar took the empty seat next to Eggs, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers.

            “Look, uh,” Crowbar said, eyes locked on the ash tray near the center of the table. “I don’t... uh, have as much... closeness, as you an’ Quarts got. But he’s one of my best friends. He counts you as his son, blood be damned. So... I gotta cut you some slack. Or he might fucking murder me,” he chuckled.

            Eggs managed to crack an awkward smile. In this moment, he only just realized how rapidly his heart had been beating. With a gulp, Eggs asked how Crowbar figured it out.

            “Long time ago,” Crowbar said, shaking his head, “before you started changin’ shit for yourself... I seen one of your clones escape. Was gonna hunt him down-- but... well... I sorta... forgot. Yeah... ain't too proud of admitting that. Didn't remember ‘til it was way too late. Maybe it’s related. Maybe it ain’t. But a lot of weird shit’s happened since then. And you got a damn awful poker face.”

            “So,” Eggs said, “I guess the house really was haunted. Sort of.”

 

            Spades Slick slid down the ladder that led into the sewer hideout, a satisfied look on his face and a Scottish terrier plush under his arm. With a brief kiss to its head, Slick placed it on the empty couch in the other room. Kicking trash across the floor like dirt, he waltzed into the kitchen. Something seemed different about it, as if it were suddenly roomier, as if there was more food in the fridge than usual. Slick took a fistfull of bottles and returned to the couch, plopping down with his terrier and booze. He turned his head from side to side, cocked his ears.

              ... _Where the fuck is everyone?_

The sound of metal against concrete sent Slick up and onto his feet, running to meet Droog at the ladder.

            "Hey asshole," Slick said. "Surprise parties don't work if the dumbasses hosting it are late."

            "Ha," Droog said, strolling with Slick as they returned to the couch. Legs crossed, cig lit, Droog relaxed quietly while Slick drank.

            “So uh, fucking,” Slick said, “fucking quiet around here.”

            “Mmhm.”

            “Real fucking quiet. Quiet like a-”

            “-It was until you started talking.”

            Slick bared his teeth. “Where the fuck is the other half of the Crew, Droog?”

            “It’s being taken care of.”

            Slick arced an eyebrow. Droog mirrored the expression to him. “Really?” Slick said, incredulous.

            “Yes,” Droog said. “Really.”

            “Hrmm,” Slick leaned back in his seat and took a long drink. “We’ll just fucking see, huh?”

 

            _“My powerful kung-fu protects us from tidal waves. Nobody fucks with the likes of me.”_

_“Dude we live in the fucking desert.”_

_“Why do you think that is? Kung-fu....”_

         Most of the rest of The Felt milled around the bar, sticking closely to the alcove Crowbar had reserved. Trace especially, with his ear against the fabric. On either side of the curtains and throughout the tavern stood dragon-carved support pillars. Within reach of staff sat the so-called Serenety Flamethrowers, flame turrets mounted in pivoting stone dragon heads. Perhaps, the idea behind it, was that the threat of someone sending the bar into an alcoholic blaze would somewhat keep the peace. Or maybe they were there simply because they were cool, since, to most, the danger level felt higher than most other taverns anyway, even if the drunken banter was just as stupid as anywhere.

Showing any sign of anxiety would be akin to bleeding out for the surrounding sharks, the cutthroat Syndicate and other murderous criminals who drank here. Snowman seemed to fit in just fine, reveling in the stares and catcalls and free drinks, stabbing anyone that dare attempt get grabby. Her aplomb created an aura of confidence and protection, keeping the rest of her gang close by.

            Die would have been nervous here regardless, if not for Clover sitting on the counter before him, swinging those little legs and scatting a tune. Die nursed his drink with utter apathy for the violent thugs that surrounded them, though he had his concerns about his new boyfriend’s situation, and having to be carried embarrassed him thoroughly.

            Quarters boldly stepped in from the back entrance, looking not much worse for wear than when the meeting had begun. Itchy was not with him.

            Biscuits shot up from his seat to tug at Quarters’ coat. “Dad! Hey, dad--”

            Quarters turned and opened his beak, a curt sound of annoyance slipping out. Matchsticks laughed at him.

            Crowbar and Eggs emerged from the curtain, tossing its halves apart, the former calling the Felts into a circle. Huddling together, Crowbar gave them a brief:

            “We’re gonna hit the Devil’s Bedpost casino. Nothin’ too fancy, but we’ll hit ‘em hard. We’ll hash out the details when the house gets its shit together and things’ve settled down. Might even catch the Crew by surprise if we wait just long enough. For now, chill. Meeting done. Fuck off wherever you wanna go.”

            As the green gangsters split, some for the exit, Crowbar touched Quarters’ arm.

            “Your son wants to talk with you,” he said.

            Quarters nodded. Eggs glanced at Biscuits, Die and Clover, giving them a smile. He reached for his timer, and with a moment’s deep breath, created one clone. Eggs-2 took Quarters by the arm, in past the curtain to discuss their predicament in private. Eggs himself joined Biscuits and Clover and Die to assure them that it was okay.

            “For now, anyways,” Eggs said. “Crowbar’s not gonna kick my ass.”

            “Which you, now?” Clover said. “It kinda matters, doesn’t it?”

            “I guess,” Eggs said. “But yeah, no, uh. He’s not gonna kick... _none_ of... my asses. Right yet.” Eggs sighed. “More and more, I don’t wanna think about it anymore.”

            “Then don’t!” Biscuits said, taking Eggs’ shoulder. “Let’s go do something. Is that ice cream shop you told me ‘bout still open?”

            “Heh-- uhhm,” Eggs said. “You wanna go to a... with... uh. Well. Yeah, I think it’s still open... okay. I’ll take you. Sure.”

            “Go ahead and have fun,” Clover said. Die nodded. “We’ll catch your other you and meet you back at the room later. Oh-- take CD back for me before you go? Pretty please?”

            Biscuits, somewhat indignantly, picked up the bird cage containing Deuce. “Y’know, for _your pet_ I sure am doing a lot of... _my_ pet stuff.”

            “Biscuits,” Clover sang. “That cage is bigger than I am.”

            “Fine,” Biscuits huffed. Eggs chuckled.

            “We got it, Clove’.” Eggs leaned into Die, and Die tilted his head upwards to meet Eggs’ lips for a tender goodbye kiss. The abhorred or amused calls from the surrounding gangsters prompted Eggs to disengage, visibly  embarrassed and a little angry at them.

Gently attempting to diffuse him, Die said,. “..Sorry. You’ve gotten me into a habit..”

            “Aw, they’re just a bunch of assholes,” Eggs groused. “We should be able to make out wherever we want. So what if we’re both guys?”

            Clover said, “I think it’s more the _public show of affection_ than you two having schlongs-

. You guys see what’s happening in the men’s room?”

            “Eggs!” Biscuits sighed, exasperated. “Are we done here? Can we go?”

            “Yeah, alright,” Eggs said. “Seeya guys. Love you.”

            “Same,” Die said, giving a weak little wave goodbye as they quit the tavern. Once Eggs and Biscuits exited, Die rested his elbows on the counter, and his head in his palms. He and Clover locked eyes. “So,” Die said. “Um... what now?”

            “Hm,” Clover said.

            “I... want to go home. To my room. My mess.” Die sighed. “Th-the hotel is nice but....” Clover leaned over to kissed Die’s cheek, lingering there longer than usual. “Th... thanks,” Die said. “You... didn’t need to refresh my luck though. I’m still... good, on that.”

            “Oh, now seriously,” Clover said. “We _gotta_ head back to the house and pick up some charms for you guys. I can’t give you a real kiss without there being some kinda motive?” Clover mocked annoyance. “It should _mean_ something, right?”

            Die smiled. “Heh... s-sorry. Thank you. You might be making me too lucky, though. Lucky for you to put up with me.”

            Clover patted Die's face. "Babe, the good fortune works both ways."

            The tavern doors slammed open, a stout figure emerging from the midnight. The bright yellow of his outfit garnered instant stares as AR moseyed through the tables. Die and Clover froze.

            “So much scum,” AR said, a cigar clenched between his teeth, hands resting on his gun holsters. “I am looking for a _particular_ set of slimeballs tonight,” he announced. “Unfinished business. Whomever aids me in locating the three Felts known as _Die, Eggs_ and _Clover..._ well, I will go easy on you when your time comes.”

            “That reward fucking sucks!” someone called.

            “ _Viiiigil_ , Viigil! Suck my clit, dick!”

            “What the hell kind of stupidass name is _Eggs_?”

            Within the alcove, Quarters reached for the concealed guns in his coat.

            “N-no, don’t do that,” Eggs said, holding onto Quarters’ arm. “Don’t-- kill him! He’s a friend... kind... of.”

            Quarters exhaled, face fallen. “You and your frien-- then what do you expect us to do? I do _not_ associate with tranquilizer guns.”

            Trace tapped AR’s shoulder, and almost immediately found himself staring down the barrel of a swiftly retrieved Glock. He raised his hands, nearly backing into one of the occupied tables, much to their aggressively obvious annoyance.

            “H-hey!” Trace said. “Relax!” AR lowered his gun, but scrutinized Trace closely.

            “You look familiar,” AR said. Trace chuckled and shook his head.

            “You wouldn’t know me,” Trace said, leaning against a dragon-adorned support pillar. “Name’s _Chester Snapdragon McFisticuffs._ Detective. Maybe I can do you a service or two, huh? My card-”

            “You’re one of the lake murderers!” AR said.

            “Uh. Ha... heh,” Trace said, backing away as AR unspooled a roll of binding caution tape. “N-no, ain’t you listenin’? I’m... my name is... _Fin_? Little help?! Fin!”

            Like flipping a switch, the room burst into a big brawl, AR at its center. Bouncers struggled and fought through the crowd and accumulating bodies for a chance at the vigilante. The bartender hurriedly dove under the counter, operating some hidden control panel, puppeteering the dragon-shaped flame turrets, blasting little puffs of flame and shouting threats. It only made things worse. Crowbar and Matchsticks had joined the fray as well, though it seemed that they might have done so for fun.

            Die clutched Clover to his chest, heart thumping, panic-stricken.

            “Maybe--” Clover said, “Uh--- stay perfectly still, like that. Maybe... his vision is based on movement.”

            “Wh-- what?!” Die said.

            “Seems to be working so far,” Clover said. “He hasn’t noticed us at all.”

            “I don’t-- I don’t think that’s... right,” Die shook his head. “We-- we gotta get out of here. Luck or not... I _don’t want to be here._ ”

            “Ooh!” Clover pointed. “Look!”

            Quarters erupted from the curtains in a dramatic flurry, a tommy gun in each hand. He bellowed out AR’s name, capturing his and most of the rest of the bar’s attention.

            “Oh,” AR said, loading his shotgun, “The gargoyle awakens.”

            Quarters let out a curt laugh before joining Crowbar and Matchsticks. The battle continued.

           

            “Remember!” Eggs said to Quarters as he slipped past, “Don’t... y’know!”

            “I know, I know!” Quarters said. “He will... live. More or less.”

            Eggs crawled towards the bar, where last he saw his friends. Though his bulk should have made sneaking through the brawl difficult, he crawled across the floor unnoticed. One or two patrons happened to stumble into him, sending them crashing backwards or tripping them up.

            Clover waited with Die below the counter, using the stools as a buffer, watching legs and faces smack the floor.

            “Shit,” Die said, twisting the edge of his coat in his fingers. “I hate just sitting here.” He shifted to draw his revolvers and began shooting out the lights within his vision, until almost nothing but the now-bursting flamethrowers illuminated the tavern.

            “You’re getting good with those,” Clover said.

            “Prolly just luck,” Die said, shooting a bottle out from one man’s hands.

            “Could be both,” Clover said. The fighting grew clumsy and confused. Gunfire almost entirely ceased, switching to weaponry (such as fists) that did not require quite so much accuracy.

            “Guys!” Eggs said, finally finding them. Both Clover and Die leaned forward to give Eggs’ as best a hug they could manage before climbing up onto his back like a mount.

           

            After emerging from the fracas that was the Black Dragon, Clover and Die collapsed onto the curb outside. Eggs strolled towards the line of motorcycles nearby, the street lights illuminating him just so.

            “Looking for a Toast to your Bacon?” Clover said.

            “Heh. Breakfast puns,” Eggs said. “Never gets old.”

            “You started it,” Clover said.

            “Hey,” Eggs said, “Bacon, the food, is like, _awesome_. I prolly would’ve named her that anyways.”

            Eggs climbed up onto one of the large motorcycles and began tinkering with the wires. “Stupid... big... sausage fingers.” Clover hopped up and into his lap to help. Eggs let him, and soon enough the bike was roaring like a monster. “So, now what?” Eggs said. Die inhaled deeply and forced himself up, using a lamp post as support. As Eggs started to stand, Die raised his palm and reached the bike himself. It was then that Die let Eggs help him up onto it.

            “Thanks. I’ll... be better tomorrow,” Die murmured. “Can we go home? The... our house. The manor. Just for a while.”

            “Sure thing,” Eggs said. He leaned in with a little kiss on Die’s cheek-- Die smiled slightly-- then started up the bike, peeling out before anyone inside could notice and catch them.

 

            Eggs parked the motorcycle outside the remains of the manor, now more akin to a shoddy dollhouse, unevenly exposing its insides. What towers remained stood like wavering toothpicks. Walls lay in isolated patches among ashes and soot-covered furniture. The area of the manor seemed far smaller, this way. Some rooms,from this vantage, appeared mostly untouched: Clover’s room, Quarters’ reinforced closet-armory appeared fine. His and Die’s rooms had retained some visible damage, but had not been completely destroyed.

            Carefully, Eggs and Die climbed down from the bike while Clover jumped in back, digging into not-Bacon’s compartment. He emerged with three flashlights, with a sandwich clamped in his teeth.

            Die stretched for a jutting piece of unidentified wood. He squeezed Eggs’ arm and in a low voice told him to break it off for him.

            “Oh. Sure, like this?” Eggs said, snapping it from the base. “Uh, this seems... counter... counter... pr. Counterproductive. To the house getting better.”

            Die released his grip on Eggs and bore his weight on the stick, like a cane.

            “Minor damage,” Die said with a frown. “Shit. I feel old.”

            Clover skipped forward, sandwich in one hand and flashlight in the other.

            “Well! Maybe we like older guys,” Clover shrugged.

            “I’m younger than both of you,” Die said, deadpan.

            “Only by a few years,” Clover said. He shrugged. “Besides, time paradoxes and... whatever. Uh.” The dour look on Die’s face stopped that line of conversation. “Nevermind. Let’s look around.”

            “I’ll go my own way,” Die said, “just... for a bit.”

            “Okay,” Eggs nodded. Die leaned up to give a quick kiss. Clover was there on Eggs’ shoulder immediately, planting one on both of them.

            “Alrighty! All smooched-up, and lucked-up. Not to be confused with fucked-up. Not the time or place for that,” Clover said. They split up.

 

            As Eggs, flashlight in hand, started towards his special room, a green wooden plank appeared from nothing and almost scraped across his arm. Eggs cried out in surprise and stumbled away, watching as the lower part of a wall built itself in fast forward, right where he had been standing. Had there had been a wall there before, in the middle of the hallway? _Maybe?_

            The stairs had deteriorated and fallen apart, and placing even a little weight on the first few steps would cause crumbling and breaking. Almost, he fell through, stepping back before any more damage was done. _Gotta find a different way_.

            Like a javelin another splinter of wood nearly scraped him across his cheek. Rapidly he turned, fumbling his flashlight. There seemed more intent in that one, like a jab. Eggs gulped.

            “...B... BB?” Eggs whispered. “Are you... here... ?”

            No answer.

            “Shit, um,” Eggs rubbed his neck. “Maybe... not.”

            Eggs dragged furniture towards the stairway, using the broken and charred chairs and couches as stepping stones. Twice more, the house seemed to attack him.   _Luck. Luck. I got luck!!_

            Something appeared off about his spare room, though he could not place it. No, not so much appeared as... _felt_. The air gave off an electric aura, almost tingling. It tasted of metal. Eggs was cold.

            All was intact. His fort, his toys, his... other toys, all except--

            “N-noo!” Eggs cried, body poured over the bed desperately digging through the sheets and boxes and between the mattress and wall. “Th- sn-- Snowy. My. Oh fuck no why!”

            “What’re you crying about, Eggsy?” Clover shouted from afar.

            “My special photo! I’ve had it since, like, forever! Die? Die, do you have my photo?”

            “No,” Die said, mustering up enough voice to make himself audible.

            “Aw fuck,” Eggs said, head in sheets. He pounded the mattress with both fists. “BB! It was BB, I know it!”

            “You sure it isn’t ghosts?” Clover teased.

            “BB _is_ the ghosts!” Eggs said, standing up. “Or... he’s a necromancer... nah he’s the ghosts--”

            Tiles rained down from the ceiling, pelting him without harming him much. Eggs defensively raised his arms and waved his flashlight. He saw himself stand up from a darkened corner: the finely dressed Bad Beat.

            Eggs backed up into the bed.

            “I did that,” Beat said, pointing to the ceiling.

            “Okay,” Eggs said, hand uneasily hovering over his Uzi.

            “I have her hostage!” Beat added, pointing to his pocket. “And you’re never gonna see her again. Never ever ever again!”

            “Uhh, guys,” Eggs called out. “I uh--”

            “Shut up!” Beat harshly said, stepping forward and waving his hands. “If you tell them I’m here, I’m gonna... I’m gonna do somethin’ bad to her! So be quiet! Nobody can know I’m here.”

            “What, Eggsy?” Clover called.

            “Nothin’!” Eggs said. “Um, okay, BB... don’t do anything you’ll, like, regret....”

            Beat pulled the photograph from his pocket, oggling it a moment, licking his lips.

            “You don’t need this anyways, right?” Beat said, replacing the photo in his suit. “You’re over her, you get plenty of actual sex all the time. So, I’m taking it. She’s my imaginary girlfriend now, and I’m gonna fuck her aaaalll niiight long,” he said, blowing a raspberry Eggs’ way. “Oh. Right. Also, I want CD.”

            “You... what?” Eggs said.

            “Let’s make some deals!” Beat said, pulling a chair out and sitting backwards in it, resting his chin on the chair’s back. “Take a seat!”

“Uh, okay,” Eggs said, “I’m already sitting but... okay. Let’s deal. What do you want from me, Beat?”

            “You can call me Bea-- oh. You did,” Beat said, rubbing his neck. “Uh, okay: I’ll give you back Snowy! I’ll call off my other mes. I’ll totally stop stalking you and Biscuits.”

            “Okay good,” Eggs said.

            “But!” Beat said, “Um, but-- you gotta do somethings for me. ‘Cause it’s a deal. That’s what deals do.”

            “I know that!”

            “You gotta give me back CD and my business card and tell everyone I’m not... that you didn’t see me,” Beat said, extending his hand.

            “Oh. Okay, I can totally-”

            “Also you gotta kill yourself so I can take your place.”

            “...um,” Eggs bit his lip. “That’s. That is an extreme condition.”

            “ _You’re_ an extreme condition!” Beat said, clenching his fists.

            Eggs stood and rocketed to Beat’s position, rifling through his pockets. “Look, uh-- I’ll do those other things, but no to the you taking my place thing. Here,” he tossed Beat’s card his way. Beat leaned over and struggled to pick the card up off the floor a moment before repocketing it. “And I’ll tell Clove’ and Biscuits to let CD go. Okay?”

            “That’s not enough,” Beat said, desperation in his voice. He let the chair fall to its side as he jumped to his feet, snatching Eggs by the shoulders and shaking him violently. _Fuck, he’s strong_ Eggs thought, having forgotten how much more fit Beat was than he. “I want Die and Clover too. And Quarters. I wanna hug them and be loved and play card games! And... I want Biscuits back. I need Biscuits back! I want my brother!”

            “Beat!” Eggs said, clasping the hands on his shoulders. “You... you can still have that without killing me.”

            “How,” Beat cried, shaking him harder. It was at this moment that Eggs noticed Clover and Die standing in the doorway, watching intently, perhaps looking for something to say or do.

            Eggs exhaled deeply. “If... you merge with me. You can have this too.”

            Beat’s eyes widened, he released Eggs and backed into the wall, shaking his head. “No.”

            “I-it’s okay!” Eggs said. “You’ll... you’ll be in here with me.”

            “No!” Beat shouted. “Y... you should just... _you_ merge with _me_!”

            “I’m not doing that!” Eggs said, shaking head and hands.

            “Well I’m not doing _that_!” Beat said, stomping his foot.

            “Does it really matter?” Clover said, almost timidly.

            “ _YES_ ,” they said in unison. Beat stormed forward and shoved Eggs, catching him off-guard and dropping him to the floor. Die and Clover called out to him.

            “F-fine!” Beat said, reaching into his suit jacket. “If... if you won’t do it the way I said so, and if you won’t do the merging thing with me like I said so...”  from his jacket he drew out something long and red and metallic and it was a fucking pipe wrench, “I’m gonna make you dead myself.”

            _BANG. BANG BANG._

            Beat jumped away, clutching the arm just scraped by the three bullets. Blood welled up and soaked into his suit. Without a word he grabbed his own timer, pulled the dial and vanished.

            Panting hard, Eggs stood, though the three were uneasy now. Had Beat retreated, or was he simply waiting?

            “D-die,” Eggs said, “You... you kinda missed his head, by a lot,” he pointed to the wall, now decorated with three bullet holes.

            Die shook his head. “N... not really. I... I just... jesus, Eggs. He’s still... he’s you.”

 

            Mind swimming, Eggs stumbled down the hall, flanked by Die and Clover. Eggs mumbled to himself, incoherent things. Clover would look over to Die, and he to Clover, and they would shrug and mouth concern. Cans’ room must have caught his eye, temporarily snapped him out of his stupor. Eggs’ eyes shot open wide and he stormed into Cans’ room as if on a mission.

            “I want that book,” he muttered. “That book he didn’t want me to read. I want it. He won’t miss it.”

            “ _What_?”

            “Let him be,” Die said to Clover in a low voice. Immediately Eggs was at the bookshelf, only partially immolated, to his relief, and through the titles he poured, scanning quickly and recklessly pawing through the spines. The spot he last recalled that particular book was occupied only by empty space, the two books that had previously outlined it resting on each other like a tent. Eggs cursed under his breath, then began canvassing the surrounding area: table, drawer, under the large chairs....

            Clover said, “Where’s this coming from all of the sudden? What book?”, Clover stepped forward, “Want help?”

            Eggs grunted as he got down onto the floor, lifting a recliner and squinting in the darkness under it. He failed to answer with anything comprehensible beyond, “think of... something different... minute....”

            _What was the name of the book again? I’ll know it when I...._

This gratuitous privacy invasion continued on for several minutes, Eggs displacing furniture and creating even more of a mess than the fire had started. Die took a seat on the recliner once Eggs had finished rifling through it; he sunk into the comparatively gigantic thing, enveloped in comfort. Clover began digging through Cans’ belongings as well, just for the fun of it. Hidden away in an ottoman compartment, Clover discovered an old, framed photograph. He stopped and made a curious noise at it.

            “Wh-” Eggs said, looking out from the bedroom door, or what remained of the frame. “What’d you find? Is it the book?”

            “Eggsy,” Clover said, rolling his eyes, “You wouldn’t even say its title. How’m I supposed to-”

            “-oh um, right,” Eggs mumbled. He returned to his search.

            “It’s a picture of a couple of little kids,” Clover said, climbing up into the recliner to sit with Die. The man leaned over to look. “I mean--- our kind! Not bug aliens! I’ll bet they’re his kids or something. Didn’t know he had any. You talk to him sometimes, right Eggsy? He ever mention a family?”

            Slowly, Eggs emerged from the room to join Clover and Die. He hovered over the chair behind them.

            “N... no, he never... wait,” Eggs said. Leaning over, he plucked the frame from Clover’s little hands, taking it in both of his. There sat two young boys, of their own kind, sitting and playing in mud. The left roared out for his toy dinosaur, the left concentrating on building a dumpy, shapeless castle decorated with sticks and rocks and snails.

            For what seemed a long time, Eggs squinted at that photo. Then he gulped, and lowered the frame, resting it on the top of the chair. Die and Clover looked up at him with a combination of worry and anticipation.

            “Th... that’s me,” Eggs finally said. “And Biscuits. That’s us. Oh... oh... oh.” Photo in one hand, forehead in the other, Eggs came around with a blank expression. Quietly, he suggested that they leave.

 

            The Oasis lake seemed a better, safer bet than the manor, despite the risk of finding Stitchy and Krathoid here. They would remain in relative darkness by the lake’s beach, sitting in the warm sand, looking at what very few constellations could be spotted through the city lights and haze. The three of them rested against the stolen bike.

            Eggs had handed the framed photo to Die, for fear of damaging it while attempting to remove it from the frame. Die picked it out carefully, and flipped the photo over. He shook his head.

            “There’s only a date,” Die said. “Nothing else.” Eggs sighed and asked him to return it to the frame and store it safely.

            Die lay his hand on Eggs’, squeezing gently in an attempt to provide some form of comfort. Eggs had calmed down some since arriving at the lake, though his mind was still muddled, heart seemed it wanted escape from his throat.

_It’s too much._

“Guys,” Clover said carefully, “I... I picked out some charms for you while we were at the house. Think it’ll help?”

            “Maybe,” Eggs said, voice distant. He fidgeted and stared off into the lake, eyes blank.

            With a concerned frown, Clover climbed up to the seat and popped open the compartment, clawing through the crap accumulated in back. Forcing a smile, he put on a faked bonhomie in an attempt to lighten the mood, make him forget at least for a moment.

            “Here! Eggsy, Die, I got you this and this and this and this!” he said as he dropped and piled the things onto Eggs’ lap. Eggs raised his hands, his response lagging slightly.

            “What’s... um... _this and this and this and this_?” he said, languidly rifling through the things in his lap.

            “Those are ankh pendants, duh. Green and poipul,” Clover said, pointing to the necklaces. “And those are dreamcatchers. You put it over your bead and it catches bad dreams and looks cool. Which uh... well you’re both insomniacs in retrospect, huh? What dreams you _do have_ , though... they’ll be good ones.”

            Eggs and Die examined the pendants and smiled at each other-- the first real smile Eggs could muster up all day. As he placed the purple ankh around his neck, Die said, “What... no shamrocks?”

            “I _am_ your shamrock,” Clover said, crossing his arms. Eggs leaned up and took Clover by the torso, gently setting him down onto his lap.

            “You’re a good shamrock,” Eggs said, the green ankh in his shirt now. He kissed Clover’s forehead, surprising Clover. Though he was happy, Eggs’ demeanor still was overall uneasy, fragile.

            “Where’s mine?”

            Eggs and Clover and Die turned rapidly-- to find Bad Beat leaning over the bike, a scowl on his face. His arm was free of blood, or any kind of evidence of a bullet wound.

            “Where’d you come from!” Eggs said, rocketing to his feet, snapped from his torpor like a flicked light switch. His hand hovered over the Uzi in his jacket, wavering. “Oh shit. Shit.”

            “From Vengeance!” Beat cried, brandishing a pipe wrench in each hand. “The... the bar, Vengeance. Over there,” he pointed across the way. “Other me called n’ said you guys were gonna be here. I’m gonna go ahead and kill you now and loot your stuff, okay? Quietly though. Don’t scream.”

            “Beat...” Eggs said, slumping. “Can we at least do this like, later or something? It’s been real rough, what with you... like... blowing up our house and making me super stressed by just sorta being... what you are. Plus other shit that’s come up. It’s... hard.”

            Beat swung his wrench, just knocking the hat from Eggs’ head. Clover caught it.

            “Shut up! I don’t care! Nobody cares!” Beat said, taking swing after swing. Eggs blocked with his arms and stepped back, away from Die and Clover, towards the lake. Die raised his revolver, shaking in his hands.

            Eggs snatched one of Beat’s wrists, wresting a wrench from his hand even as the other wrench slammed against his face, bruising his cheek and eye. Eggs returned a blow directly to the bump of Beat’s nose, spraying blood and halting his attack as he stopped to clutch his face.

            Panting, Eggs dropped the wrench and backed away.

            “F... fuck,” Eggs said under his breath. “Fuck I’m... sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t....”

            “Shut... up,” Beat said defiantly, voice nasaly. He gripped that remaining pipe wrench and, without taking a moment to aim, cast it at Eggs’ head, slamming it into the very same place from which Beat was bleeding. Eggs collapsed.

            Shots were fired, non-fatal wounds impacting against Beat’s flesh-- his arms, mostly. This time he did not stop, instead twirled about to lash out at Die, smacking the gun from his hands and inadvertently his makeshift cane as well, knocking him over.

            “Oh shit!” Beat said, falling to his knees and joining Die in the sand, grasping his shoulders with still bloodied hands. Die looked up, straight into Beat’s eyes, and had a moment of conflicted panic. “I didn’t mean to do that. Sorry.”

            Die reached for his other revolver, jamming it between Beat’s eyes. Beat flinched. Die held his breath.

            “You love me too, right?” Beat said. “You said you’d love me no matter what, right?”

            Die gulped.

            “Stop it... stop!” Clover said, waving his hands from Eggs’ side. He was not unconscious, though all he could manage to slur out were grunts and groans as he held his face.

            “No!” Beat said, still gripping Die, still with a gun to his face. “You guys know I’m here now and I’m gonna get in big trouble and I don’t want any of this!!”

            “Then just leave!” Clover said. “Run away! Hide! You’re good at hiding! Do that! You can’t replace our Eggs, okay? You like us? You want us to like you? Well this whole thing, right here? Not helping your case! Just... go. Get out!”

            Beat groaned out some kind of noncommittal answer. He released Die, and Die lowered his gun.

            As Eggs stood up, Beat vanished again.

           

            Die and Clover leaned against the counter of the hotel’s kitchenette, helping Eggs-2 patch his face with bandages. In the bright light they could more clearly see the injuries, the sand and blood caking his clothing. It was then that the original Eggs and Biscuits walked through the door, alarmed to find his other self so messily injured. Biscuits and Eggs crowded Eggs-2.

            “You okay? Holy shit!! What happened? Midnight Crew? Vigil? What?”

            “B.. Beat,” Eggs-2 said wearily. “I... I guess you’ll want me to merge with you, huh? Get all the... details.”

            Eggs lay his hand on Eggs-2’s back. “Um... when... ever you’re ready to. You don’t have to right now.”

           

            Eggs entered the bedroom as one, eventually, face bandaged still but injuries only half as bad. Clover had fallen asleep on the bed, Die clutching him like a pillow.

            “Eggs,” Die greeted him. “Come here,” he touched the empty side of the bed. Eggs nodded and dressed down to his pants, joining Die and kissing the back of his neck.

            “Biscuits says we need to order hookers to make me feel better,” Eggs mumbled. “I said don’t but I think he’s gonna do it anyways. So. Just... saying. We might get uninvited hookers.”

            Clover stirred, perhaps not so asleep. “Maybe it’ll keep Beat away. He’s trying to be covert. Not doing so good at that tonight, but...,” he yawned, “y’know.”

           Eggs swallowed, burying his face in the back of Die’s neck. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I... want my dad. I mean. Quarters. My dad....”

            “Tomorrow,” Die said. “Rest.”

            “Hey?” Biscuits said from the living room. “...Guys?”

            “What,” Eggs groaned.

            Biscuits cracked the bedroom door open, head peering through without actually looking at them. “You guys see where I left CD? He uh... came out of the closet?”

           

            _Clubs Deuce awoke in his avian prison to the sounds of scrabbling and grunting outside the ajar closet door. With some effort, he shoved the cage onto its side and rolled it like a hamster in an wheel. Against the door he pushed, making it into the living room. In the darkness, he spied the top of a hat and some struggling fingers. The man periodically pulled his weight up just enough for Deuce to see that he was large.  
            “Boxy?” Deuce said tentatively, though a moment’s squinting and further listening told him that it was not. The man slipped, and the next sound was a _ THUD _. “...Huh,” Deuce said. He rolled, eventually finding the cage’s key on the floor amongst some dirty clothing._

 

_Curiosity compelled Deuce to search for the large invader that failed to rescue him, or assault him or perhaps simply rob the room. Once outside, after raiding the bar and fridge, he hunted the Oasis grounds for the man, following a stone path that circled the building and cut through the manicured lawn._

_What he found was a groaning, broken mess bleeding on the pavement. His fall had been partially softened by the branches of trees, though they left him more cut and bruised than anything. The man, dressed entirely in black, including mask and gloves, black hat having flown off somewhere in the bushes, breathed with difficulty, unable to comprehensively answer Deuce’s inquiries--_ “Hey, I know you! You were-- do you hear me? Hello? Anybody home?

            “….are you okay?”-- _before taking a final ragged gasp and expiring. Deuce poked him with a stick to be certain. Then, unmasked him._

 

_Deuce left the body where it was. Struggling to register what he had just seen, his legs moved him automatically down the street, towards the Midnight Crew hideout. It was a relief to walk again after such a long confinement, but he had been far too busy ruminating to appreciate it fully._

_He would have to think all of this over... but he certainly felt that he would figure it out, eventually._

_Clubs Deuce was shocked from his trance-like state when the voice of Hearts Boxcars called to him from across the street. A toothy grin spread itself across Deuce’s face, and he waved back with both arms. Boxcars motioned at him,_ Get over here! _and Deuce froggered across traffic to meet him at the little outdoor bar._

_“Boxy! Where’ve you been, you big palooka?” Deuce said, scaling a seat next to his friend._

_“Eh... you know,” Boxcars said, scratching the back of his neck, muttering, “Fluffy kittens....”_

_“Sounds fun,” Deuce said._

_“Yeah uh, it could’ve been worse,” Boxcars said, knocking back a drink. “Say, uh, Deuce. I’ve been gone like, a fucking half a year or something. Could you ah... remind me what the fuck we were doing that sent me to kittenville in the first fucking place?”_

_“Oh boy,” Deuce exhaled. “Ohhh. Boxy. I’ve got so much to say! So so much! We oughta find Droogsy and the boss first though. I got a lot ot say and you all gotta hear it!” He started to descend his seat when Boxcars gently snatched the collar of his shirt._

_“Whoa there. Lemme finish my drinks first. Here, join me.”_

_“Aw... well. Alright,” Deuce said, readjusting. “Tell me about the fluffy kittens. Were they soft?”_

_“Shit, kid. They were the softest fucking kittens.”_

 

            The next week was harrowing. ‘Accidents’ befell Eggs more frequently than should have been. Clover’s luck safeguarded them all to an extent, but not all incidents could be construed as particularly ‘lucky’ or ‘unlucky’. Whether or not that was by Bad Beat’s design was up in the air--- and they were certain it was Beat.

 

            It was Beat leaving gifts for Die and Clover and Biscuits.

            Leaving shit of questionable origin in Eggs’ hat.

            Five thousand pizzas unexpectedly delivered to their hotel room. The mob running the pizza joint had little patience, and many baseball bats.

            Writing chickenscratched, poorly-spelled death threats towards Eggs on the walls.

            Replacing fruity drinks with antifreeze.

            Leaving bear traps in the kitchen.

            Verbal assault in the night.

            Physical assault also in the night.

            Surprise upper-decking.

            Hiding Eggs’ clothing while he and Die made love.

            Standing in the far corner and staring while Eggs and Die made love.

            Physical assault in a very compromised state.

            Stabbing. _The fucking stabbing catching Eggs off-guard, Beat emerging from the opposite side of the bathroom mirror-- torn from the wall during a night out-- Beat scraped and exhausted from destroying the lightswitch and somehow climbing into the walls and waiting, hoping for Eggs in the darkness._

_“Just_ die _!” he cried and lunged forward with the screwdriver, fingers easily encased around Eggs’ thick neck and between cries the tool pierced flesh, no aim, only mad jabbing and_ “Die! Die! Die!”

_It was not a call for him, but Die like lightning appeared at the bathroom door, shoulder supported against the frame and revolver drawn as Beat shoved Eggs against the wall and began digging at his throat and eyes._

 

_Then nothing._

 

            Eggs awakened from a dreamless sleep, over the course of the day reclaiming fragments of memory from the haze of searing ache radiating from his face and neck and the pitch darkness that greeted him.

            He could not speak, could not ask whomever may be listening all the questions screaming in his aching head. _I can’t see! I can’t--_ _where’s Biscutis? Where are all my friends? My me’s?_

            Hearing Die and Clover’s concerned voices and feeling their touch against his scarred flesh momentarily confused him. But slowly, he remembered, and the crushing depression returned to smear him into a gross paste on the floor.

_How did this happen?_

            He lay there for days more, too afraid to move without a hand guiding him. Often he was not even sure if he was awake or dreaming vividly, for occasionally the voices of his friends would find their way into his mind as he slept, incorporating themselves in amusing or frightening ways, or both.

            He dreamed of fucking Clover-- he knew he had to be dreaming when Clover could actually take him in--  while the little Felt bargained with an angry dinosaur that sounded a lot like Fin. He could also hear Stitch sometimes, and Trace and Fin again, and Quarters, but mostly Die, Biscuits and Clover.

            Biscuits tried his best. He took Eggs by the hand when he needed it, dragging him where he needed to be. Reckless, at first, but more and more he tried to exercise caution. Biscuits would offer food and drink, creating a mess should Die nor Clover not be in the room to assist. On more than one occasion, he attempted to play cards with Eggs, sure that he was absolutely bored just sitting there in darkness and silence. These games were incredibly one-sided, but Eggs appreciated the effort, when he had the consciousness to recognize it.

 

            “I got food!” Biscuits said, dropping a tray into Eggs’ lap. His hands shot up, carefully feeling around the thing. In his caution, he still accidentally swiped a glass onto the carpet.

_Err--_

            “Oh,” Biscuits said, “That’s okay. The dog’ll get it.”

_D- what? There’s a dog in here?_

            “Or... whatever that thing is,” Biscuits added. “I think it’s a dog.”

_Ow! Shit!_ Eggs’ reeled back when his fingers hit a sort of hot liquid. Immediately they went into his mouth. “...Mmm.”

            “It’s soup, dummy,” Biscuits said. “Use a spoon.”

            Eggs groaned.

 

            When he felt Quarters’ presence, he also felt the heavy hand on his shoulder, or clawed hand carefully touching his face. Eggs had curled up into his lap once or twice, either in dream or reality, simply enjoying the sound of the voice coming through. Quarters talked shit about those that had pissed him off recently, or gleefully recalled antics with Crowbar and Matchsticks, or the new guns he had acquired or modified. He told Eggs that he loved him and touched the tip of his beak to his forehead, and that he would be back again soon. Sometimes, Biscuits tagged along. He could not tell for how long.

            The passage of time was a mystery to him in this state.

 

_Quiet sobbing came from a slightly muffled distance, perhaps behind a door._

_“This wasn’t supposed to happen, the charm should’ve worked... I should’ve just-”_

_“It’s-- it’s, not your fault-”_

_“Of course it is! Oh... oh shit.”_

_“He. He’ll be... okay. He’ll come out of this okay. Count that as lucky.”_

 

            Eggs had been recovering on the crappy futon in Trace and Fin’s apartment for less than a week. The place was far too cramped for five and one half people, an irritation to all parties. But Beat was sufficiently balked by the senses belonging to the shark brothers. Trace’s lingering, faint affinity for Eggs-- and Die, evidently-- kept he and Fin compliant.

            Stitch assured them that Eggs would recover from the traumatic wounds he sustained. His throat wound healed the soonest, and tentatively he began to speak. Eggs’ vision would recover as well. For now, he now wore a blindfold. Light and shadow bled through the cloth, barely, and fondly he thought of that other Crowbar and wondered how he and the others held up.

            Without hesitation nor request, Clover agreed to be Eggs’ eyes for him. Clover lay against Eggs’ chest, describing the broken down shithole they had downgraded from in amusingly grotesque detail, much to their owners’ chagrin.

            “It’s like the carpet is actually made of a layer of dirt, and prolly some slime and blood too. The floors creak like they’re sentient and every step is horrible screaming torture. There’s someone’s old shoe with a damp-looking, stained-up sock full of _something fowl_ and they’re using it as a doorstopper. The broken window full of flowing spiders is the _nicest_ thing about this room,” Clover chortled. “No wonder you-know-who doesn’t wanna touch this place.” Eggs hoarsely laughed with him, making up his own imagined observations while Trace made unseen faces in the corner.

            What Eggs really saw tied his insides up like endless knots.

            “Clove’,” Eggs said, “Where’s dad staying? If this place sucks so much, why don’t we go where he is? He’ll... keep us safe.”

            “This is the safest place for you right now,” Die said. Eggs felt his slight weight join him on the futon. “Quarters and his friends have enemies, too, other than the Crew.”

            “Yeah, like those firefighters,” Clover said. “I told him not to kill them too much.”

 

            When finally, the Felt Manor had put itself back together, there amongst the gang hung a mixed state of relief and bewilderment. Such devastation resulted in a twisted, glitched repair. The basic layout remained the same, but now featured walls intersecting halls at strange angles, jutting handrails and stairs falling upwards. It was navigable. It was fixable. But not easily.

            Cans had audibly sighed and rolled up his sleeves, preparing to clear some paths. Eggs caught himself staring towards Cans with his ears and immediately shifted his not-gaze. Biscuits clutched Eggs’ hand and walked him with Die by his side, Clover on his shoulder describing everything in detail.

            Of course, Clover’s room was perfectly fine, as it had been when they checked in. As was Die’s, as was Eggs’ and Biscuits’. Eggs’ main concern now was his private room. He had not been to it since meeting Beat there.

 

            Something barred him. Eggs stood there, hand on the knob. Clover scooted as far back as possible, whispering _wait don’t_. Eggs shook his head, grip tightening on the knob but otherwise unmoving. Biscuits initially was irritated at Eggs’ hesitation, though the creep reached him a few moments after, cowing him.

            An energy not too unlike that of the vault seeped out from behind the door. Eggs had never noticed it before then and apprehension took him. He released the knob, realizing suddenly how sweaty he was. Clover took on a pale complexion, still quickly muttering warnings.

            Eggs turned away from the door, reluctantly. Die touched Eggs’ hand and suggested they might see if a path to the library had opened up, and the others agreed with haste.

 

            That night, the three of them slept together, or tried to. This time they rested in Clover’s fat oversized bed, curled over in a nest of blankets, pillows, plushies. This was Eggs’ first time in Clover’s bed, and he found himself jealous of its size. Physically, it was plenty comfortable, especially with his friends nestled in his arms. Though, the apprehension always hung over him like a filthy cloud. Ears constantly pricked for wayward, muffled ringing. Thoughts keeping Eggs wide awake though his body wanted badly to disappear into dreams. His boyfriend, fellow insomniac as he was, was a small comfort, holding onto his fingers and leaving kisses on them. Eggs whispered grateful little things: “ _I love you._ _I’m sorry_.”

_“It’s okay.”_

_“Sorry, sorry... I’m....”_

_“Shh....”_

_“sorry.”_

            At one point, Eggs leaned off the edge of the bed to get his loaded Uzi. He had no fear of it accidentally firing, not with their little shamrock here. What he feared was doing what was nestled in the back of his mind.

            He lay the hand straight over his friends so that the gun pointed outward, towards the door, or what he was sure was the door.

            Die whispered to Eggs, hesitantly, “I have the doll. It’s under the pillow. I’ll... I’ll... keep us... safe. All of us.”

            “It’s a det... detter... thing that’ll keep him away,” Eggs insisted. “Deterrent. That. Okay?”

            Eggs failed to sleep at all that night, and many nights to come. The bright smile he was usually so quick to show seemed a rare or forced occurrence now. Behind the blindfold his wide, clouded eyes were red, sunken, tired, wet or exhausted of wetness. But, as the week passed, they at least healed. The blindfold came off. He could see.

            He soon learned that he did not want to see.

            Eggs was jumpy. He jolted when someone called his name, when he heard even the slightest semblance of a ringing, at his own shadow and most especially at his reflection but _fuck_ avoiding the bathroom was difficult.

            He shook violently, crying when circumstances forced him in, shutting his eyes so tightly that it hurt as he felt his way around the sink. Clover or Biscuits stood guard for him at the door, after this.

            Clover stopped popping up on him like a magic parrot for fear of giving the poor man a heart attack, though he still managed to accidentally surprise him with enough frequency to make him feel terrible about it.

            He and Die appealed to Quarters, whom appealed to Crowbar. Subsequently, nearly every mirror and otherwise highly reflective surface in the house, not in another member’s room, had been covered by a sheet. Those not directly associated with Eggs found it an annoyance, but a tolerable one. They would complain only when Quarters was not in earshot.

            It was a start for which Eggs was grateful, though it was far from stopping the danger that lurked still in every corner for him.

            Eggs carried the Uzi in plain sight, always clutched to him or hanging just from his pocket, dangling from his fingers. (Die had forlornly compared it to how himself and his doll had once been) With far more frequency, he practiced with his dad, though Quarters had mixed feelings about the reasons why.

            He felt safer with Quarters around. Beat never attacked when in his vicinity, though Eggs feared the day he would try, and what Quarters may do to him.

            Did Beat love Quarters too? Was he intimidated? Both?

 

            Die frequently disappeared, usually showing up at night to sleep with Eggs, Clover, both. More than usual, he was quiet, and Eggs worried for him and wished he could help with whatever bothered him. He did not even know how to help himself. All he could do was fill Die with all the love and care he could muster.

            He hated to be a burden on him.

 

            Biscuits grew impatient with Eggs, and frustrated with himself for this. He wanted his brother back, his real brother, not this big paranoid thing that cried and cowered at his own image. He wanted so badly to be okay with this, be a good brother, support him without wavering. It was hard.

            Eggs forced smiles at him and Biscuits saw through it. Eggs stopped trying.

            Biscuits did not. He was so afraid to be fully and truly left alone.

 

            And Bad Beat continued to harass them all, untouchable as long as Eggs refused to allow his execution.

 

            Die materialized in his catastrophically messy room, clothing splattered in blood that did not belong to him. After switching on a lamp, he pulled on the chair to his desk, propped his doll up against the wall and began writing in his journal.

            “Hi, Die.”

            Mildly surprised, Die turned his head and watched the large figure emerge from a dark corner. His hand returned to his doll, fingering his pins.

            “I know it’s you, Beat,” Die said.

            “No I’m not,” Beat said, stumbling through the books to join Die at the desk. “See? I’m in a green suit and everything and, um, I love you.” He twisted and leaned in towards Die and Die backed away in his seat, shoving a hand against Beat’s chest, as if he had the strength to stop him.

            “Leave us alone-” Die started. Beat cut him off as he snatched him up off the chair and force his mouth against him, pinioning his arms to his sides in the process. Try as he might, Die could do nothing against Beat’s strength-- his embrace was rather gentle, but too firm to break free from.

            Beat whispered against Die’s cheek, “Just go with it, okay?”

            “N-no,” Die hissed, squirming. Beat’s hands wandered around Die’s body, one hand clutching his ass.

            “I’ll fuck you nice ‘n rough, the way you really like it. I’ll tie you up and do all that stuff the other one don’t wanna to do to you. I’ll leave lots of evidence and make you hurt good. And I’ll look just like him doin’ it.” Die’s breath caught in his throat. His body thrilled at those words as his mind and mouth continued to protest loudly. “...or,” Beat said, “I can go find him and stab him some more. Want that? ‘Cause I can so totally go do that. Clove’ and Quarts can’t always be around him all the time. I know. ‘Cause I can. I got powers. I can walk through the walls and make them all have eyes if I want. It’s fun. So, have fun with me, too.”

            “I... I... _shit_....”

 

            “It’s so fucking stupid,” Itchy groaned, leaning against the daylight kitchen table with a coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other. “Who wants to rip ‘em down and pretend to be ghosts with me?”

            “Itchy... shut up,” Doze sighed, briefly looking up from his newspaper. “I can’t even get past this paragraph....”

            “Then read better,” Itchy said. “He’s being a big goddamn baby. Baby needs to grow the fuck up. Oooh, this asshole’s stalking me. Then kill him, dumbass. It’s easy.”

            Eggs hung around the corner, back slumped against the wall. He decided against getting something to eat, sulking back into hiding. It was not as if actually killing him had never crossed his mind, especially after what he had done to Die. Just the very _thought_ of what he did... Eggs pictured it now, how he would kill Beat. Holding him down and bludgeoning him with his own stupid fucking pipe wrenches, destroying his eyes and throat and peppering his face with gunfire... his own, bloody face....

            Eggs shuddered. _How could he do this? How could I ever... ? No, no, no...._

            Die acted as if it were not as big a deal as Eggs knew it was, not to say that Die accepted the incident. This upset Eggs further. Clover was with him in his anger; there was that.

_I want him dead. I want him to suffer. I don’t want to want this._

_I don’t know what to do...._

 

            At least, Eggs did not feel Beat’s presence today. It was odd, but slightly relaxing. Slightly.

 

            “Droog, oh Droog,” Spades Slick called, anger twinged in his voice. Clubs Deuce and Hearts Boxcars were not far behind, both of them a tad nervous around their angry boss storming around the hideout. “Motherfucker, you can’t keep hiding. I have your Swedish Fish,” he said, dangling a bag like bait.

            “Uh, Boss?” Boxcars said, crossing his arms. “I don’t think he’s here.”

            “Where the fuck else does he have to be?” Slick threw the bag behind the couch. On cue, the sound of scraping asphalt and the _clink clink_ of shoes on the metal ladder echoed below. Slick skidded into the room as Droog touched the floor.

            “Hey dipwad,” Slick said, “Maybe answer your fucking radio? I’ve been looking for your ass.”

            “I was busy,” Droog curtly said. He moved past Slick into the living room. Deuce and Boxcars shifted from the door like gates allowing his passage. Slick was right on Droog’s tail.

            “Busy with _what_?” Slick said, sending a glare to the back of the other man’s head.

            Droog lit a cigarette and laid back on the couch. “I have a life.”

            “You have a lot of interesting things,” Slick said, pacing in front of him. Boxcars and Deuce eyed each other worryingly. “Boxcars, bring it in here,” Slick snapped. The large carapace nodded and quit the room. Droog’s poker face never wavered, though now he was curious, and slightly concerned.

            Slick continued, voice intensifying with every word, “Interesting, stupid, horrible, treacherous, fucking _stupid_ \--!”

            Droog stood up, as Bad Beat was thrown face-down into the room. Boxcars followed and rested a knee on Beat’s back, tearing the black mask from his head. His face remained within the topography of the rug, practically buried in it as he refused to look up at Droog.

            “What the fuck _is this?_ ” Slick screamed. “How dare you bring... this... into my goddamn house.”

            “I’m sorry, DD,” Deuce said, spreading his hands. “I just had to tell everyone all the things I’ve been seeing....”

            “Well, one good thing’s coming out of this,” Slick said with a smirk. Drawing a blade from his deck, he said, “I know what I want for dinner tonight."

            "Slick," Droog said, calmly as ever. Inside, his heart raced. "Bad Beat is not a Felt-”

            “-Oh, cute, you named it,” Slick sneered. “He’s still a green piece of shit. And if he’s not a Felt? What is he then? He damn well isn’t part of the fucking Crew.”

            Droog narrowed his eyes. “He belongs to me. He is a dog, eager to please me in any way possible. A big, strong dog that can be in many places at once. A loyal, _stupid_ dog who won’t question orders.”

            “Then order it to go die,” Slick said, slamming his heel into the back of Beat’s head. Beat flinched and muffled a cry, otherwise staying put. “Just because you dress up a... _dog_ in your fancy shmancy suits it doesn’t make it... not... a fucking green piece of shit!” Slick shook his head. “I know what this looks like to you, but it ain’t the only thing. I know Eggs well enough. I don’t know exactly how much this one is like... that one, but you said it yourself: it’s _loyal_.”

            “Loyal to me,” Droog clarified. “BB was abandoned. Afraid. Lost. I took him in, civilized him, gave him a name with a little dignity. He knows that. Don’t you, Beat?”

            Beat looked up briefly, giving Droog a little nod before reuniting his gaze with the floor.

            “That was well over a year ago,” Droog said. “He has been a good dog, for the most part.”

            “Yeah? What’ve you been havin’ him doing?” Slick said, unimpressed. “I like how you keep calling him a dog, by the way. Yeah, that’s gonna help convince me. Smartass.”

            Droog shrugged. “He’s picking up my dry cleaning... getting dinner... a little stalking... occasionally beating someone to death when I can’t. Little, but important errands.”

            “It’s going to backfire on you fucking spectacularly,” Slick said. He groaned. “Dog... that thing’s no dog. Get rid of it or I’ll do it myself. _Now_ , asshole.”

            “B- wait! Boss,” Deuce said, stepping between Slick and Droog. “I told you about him so I could tell you about something I learned about that oven of Biscuits’... I think,” he gestured at Beat, “He might be able to put it to use.”

            Slick crossed his arms. “Why should I give a fuck about that worthless thing?”

            “Oh boss, there’s plenty of fucks to give about it!” Deuce said, excited.

            “Yeah, right-”

            “Aw, let him speak, boss,” Boxcars said. “Can I stand up? Gettin’ tired of kneeling.”

            “Keep kneeling,” Slick said. “Stay on that fucker.” He nodded at Deuce. “Fine, CD. Convince me.”

            As Clubs Deuce recalled all that he had overhead Eggs and Biscuits discuss in his brief time of Felt imprisonment, Slick sat and listened, looked between Deuce and Bad Beat, as ideas began to form.


End file.
